


Unveiled

by Mad_Lori



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Everything is consensual, Lots of Sex, M/M, Modern Royalty, Mpreg, NOT OMEGAVERSE, Nobody is a Hockey Player, Veiled Sex, weird traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-11-26 02:22:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 38,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20922587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Lori/pseuds/Mad_Lori
Summary: Prince Evgeni has known he’d have an arranged marriage since he was a boy. What’s more, his marriage will be embargoed - until his spouse has conceived, Evgeni won’t be allowed to see his face or speak to him. The embargo is meant to keep distance between them until their marriage is finalized, but Evgeni’s new husband is a force to be reckoned with, even from behind a veil.Meanwhile, Evgeni befriends Sidney, one of his new husband’s handsome guards. As his friendship with (and attraction to) Sidney grows, Evgeni is torn between his loyalty to his spouse and his feelings for Sidney - knowing all the while that when he’s finally allowed to see his husband’s face, he will lose Sidney forever.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Biology note: This is mpreg but NOT omegaverse. All genders have both reproductive systems, meaning anybody of any gender can get anyone else pregnant. Men and women exist, but gender presentation is a result of how things are arranged/presented. I'm not super into getting into a ton of details about this. Handwave, handwave. 
> 
> Note about language: I made the conscious choice not to render anyone's dialogue in a particular accent or dialect, as I felt that in this setting it would be a distraction. We're gonna go with "everyone in the story is fluent in whatever language you'd like them to be speaking."
> 
> Note to my existing readers: This is my first story in this fandom. If you have followed me here from Sherlock or another fandom, please take note of the tags - this is unlike anything I've ever written before. My first foray into mpreg or RPF. If those things don't work for you, that's fine, then this fic isn't for you. No need to inform me.
> 
> Thank you to burning_up_a_sun and luckie_dee for excellent beta services, and to ljummen and right-of-the-curve for reading and reacting as I banged this out in record time.
> 
> Come see me on Tumblr (madlori)

Zhenya had hoped to sleep in on his last morning as a bachelor, but his eyes flew open just past dawn and would not close again. 

His wedding day. The culmination of several years’ work -- the selection of his consort-to-be, the negotiations, the contracts, the preparations...all of which he’d had minimal part in, because one simply didn’t arrange their own marriage, let alone their own embargoed marriage.

He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, going over and over it in his mind. Ceremony, blessing, consummation, and then...life as usual? Regular people had celebrations after their weddings. They gathered together with their friends and families, ate and drank, danced and celebrated along with the person they’d just married. Lots of photos, smiling faces, Instagram posts and hashtags.

For embargoed spouses, such celebrations were pointless. It was hard to rejoice with your new life partner when you weren’t allowed to see or speak to them, or even to know their name.

All that he knew about the consort was that he was from New Scotland, was Zhenya’s age, and of noble blood. It had been tempting to at least Google him, but poking around an embargo like that was inappropriate, not to mention insulting to the significant sacrifice being made by his new consort. This man had agreed to a restrictive situation to become Zhenya’s husband and bear his child -- the least Zhenya could do was respect his decision. Besides, the consort’s entire online presence would have been digitally embargoed by the palace tech team, which was really meant to shield him from the rest of the world’s snooping, but also served to thwart tempted spouses.

Zhenya’s parents had asked for quite a bit of input about what sort of person he hoped for as a life partner. They had already known that he preferred a male spouse, and had accepted his one additional condition for a match, but beyond that, he trusted them. He’d known since childhood that his marriage would be arranged and had accepted it, was even grateful for it. It was difficult to meet people when you were a Prince. Zhenya had dated his fair share of men, but he was never sure about their motives -- was his money a factor? his status? his fame? -- and his dates were often put off by the press attention, not to mention the trappings of royalty. He thought his chances of finding happiness with a spouse selected by his parents were possibly better, and certainly no worse. Besides, he didn’t really have it in him to rebel. Refusing to have an embargoed arrangement would be a serious break with tradition, and the very idea was just -- exhausting. 

Sasha, his boisterous, gap-toothed valet, banged into the room at 7:00 a.m. sharp; Zhenya groaned and pulled a pillow over his head. “None of that, now. We have to make you look royal, so God knows we need every last second.” Sasha grabbed the blankets and yanked them off. Zhenya yelped and curled into a tight comma on the bed. “Up, you lazy, posh twat.”

“Why did I make you my valet. Why,” Zhenya said, muffled into his pillow. Sasha had not come up through the ranks of the palace staff, as most valets did. He had been a teammate of Zhenya’s on their university hockey team, and some fit of insanity had led Zhenya to conclude that his total lack of finesse in matters of protocol and politics was appropriate for the job. 

“Because you knew I wouldn’t put up with your bullshit and you were right. You’re getting married today, so let’s try and fool all these rubes into thinking you’ve got class, eh?”

Zhenya slumped out of bed, only to be manhandled out of his pajamas by Sasha. “Hey!”

He snorted. “Like I’ve never seen your dick before. And a lot more people are going to be seeing it today, so get over it. Shower, now.”

Zhenya spent the morning being scrubbed, polished, trimmed, neatened, and perfumed to within an inch of his life. Breakfast was brought in, an unusually light meal. “Are they afraid I’m going to throw up?” he grumbled, eating his toast.

“Probably. Are you?”

“No.”

“You’re not nervous?”

“I’m a little anxious. Excited. What’s to be nervous about?”

“I mean…” Sasha made vague gestures all around him at everything.

Zhenya swallowed and sipped at his tea. “Have you heard...anything?”

“I’m gonna need you to be more specific.”

He rolled his eyes. “About my betrothed.”

“Even if I had, I wouldn’t be allowed to share it. If you want to know, you’ll have to hire a hacker to un-embargo his Instagram.” Zhenya just looked at him. Sasha sighed. “All I know is that he and his entourage arrived two nights ago.”

“‘Entourage?”

“His parents are with him, and he’s got his own guards. He’ll have the guards until he’s unveiled. You knew that, right?”

“I know.”

“Other than that they’re all keeping to their quarters. He’s not supposed to be seen until the wedding.”

“He’s not going to be seen _ after _ the wedding! Not that anybody knows what he looks like. He could be walking around the palace in a bathing suit eating peaches and nobody would know it was him.”

“The embargo is for your own good, and his. And the kingdom’s.”

“I get it.” And he did, really. If his consort hadn’t conceived within a year, he would be replaced, and that process would be a lot easier for everyone involved if he, and the citizens, hadn’t gotten attached to him. Hence, the embargo. At least, that’s what the clerics said. Endlessly. “I understand the principle. It’s just going to take some getting used to, being married to someone and having sex with him without seeing his face or talking to him.”

Sasha snorted. “C’mon, Zhenya. You’ve had more than your share of hookups.”

“So?”

“How many of their names can you remember, or even their faces? You’re telling me you had deep conversations with them?”

“That’s different. This man will be my _ husband. _”

“I heard that the prince of Patagonia and his consort broke their embargo and fell in love. She didn’t get pregnant so she had to leave, they were both heartbroken, he almost abdicated his throne, it was a horrible mess, he wouldn’t sleep with the new consort and so _ she _ had to be replaced, the first consort was disgraced and went into hiding, nobody knows what happened to her and he’s a giant ball of depression.”

Zhenya blinked. “That’s terrible.”

“Honor your embargo, Zhenya.”

He sighed. “I intend to.”

* * *

  


Embargoed marriage ceremonies were small, private affairs. The unveiling was really the big public spectacle, when the kingdom could at last meet their prince’s husband. The wedding was more for the clerical blessing and the witnessed consummation, and a huge gathering for that was considered unseemly. Zhenya had been trained since childhood not to feel immodest for this occasion, but he was still glad that there would only be a few witnesses present.

He walked to the chapel in his custom-made marriage robes, simple but lush as was the current style. Standing outside the chamber were six of his consort’s guards. Their uniforms were pleasingly clean-lined, black and tailored with deep gold trim, and they snapped to attention as he approached, disciplined and in perfect formation. Zhenya nodded to them -- he imagined he’d be getting to know them soon enough -- and passed through.

A heavy drape hung in the center of the dais with a small hole cut in it for their hands to pass through. Zhenya took his place on the left, nodding to the head cleric. He heard rustling from the other side of the drape and a shadow fell upon it; his new consort had taken his place on the other side.

They did not speak during the ceremony, as their embargo forbade them from hearing one another’s voices. The cleric spoke to them; they acknowledged his words with nods of assent to his questions and directives. When he bade them do so, they joined hands through the hole in the drape. Zhenya noted that his betrothed’s hand was square and strong, and gripped his without hesitation, exhibiting no sign of a nervous tremor. A promising start. He shut his eyes and sent up a prayer to whatever deity might be handy..._ please, let me like him. Please, let him get pregnant quickly. Let him be smart. And if it’s not too much to ask, please, let him be...not hideous. _

“You are joined,” the cleric concluded, simply. Two deacons appeared and removed the drape.

His consort was dressed in elegant marriage robes of his own, including a cape and a veil that hid him from view entirely save for his hands. The only new information Zhenya received with the removal of the drape was his consort’s height, about half a head shorter than Zhenya. He smiled at his new husband and they bowed to each other. Zhenya watched as his consort made a silent greeting to his parents, the Duke and Duchess of New Scotland, who Zhenya did not know at all. With over seventeen thousand peerage titles in the world, one couldn’t meet them all, or even a tiny fraction. The consort’s guards had materialized in the chapel and now surrounded their master and escorted him off the dais and off into the chamber where the next and final step would happen.

Zhenya turned to receive his own parents’ congratulations, and a back-slapping hug from Sasha, wildly overstepping his role as a valet as usual. Zhenya’s father rolled his eyes but didn’t chastise him; his parents loved Sasha as they loved Zhenya himself. More, he sometimes suspected. 

The cleric hovered at Zhenya’s elbow. “Your Royal Highness, you are awaited in the antechamber.” 

Sasha winked at him. “Good luck. Do it right the first time and this embargo can end quickly.”

“I don’t think it’s entirely up to me,” Zhenya said, but he hoped for the same. He couldn’t imagine waiting for months on end, walking on eggshells every day, everyone looking askance at him if it dragged on and wondering at his virility if he failed to impregnate his spouse. As if it would be for lack of trying. 

He followed the cleric into the antechamber. His consort would have gone on ahead to be _ prepared and arranged _by his personal attendants, although Zhenya wasn’t quite sure what that meant, beyond the obvious. This situation was generally not intended to produce arousal in both parties, so he damn well hoped that his consort’s “preparation” involved vaginal lubrication of some kind, for both of their comfort. He’d find out soon enough, but first there was still all manner of ceremonial mumbo--jumbo to attend to.

Zhenya wasn’t particularly devout, a fact he kept mostly to himself. At minimum, a visible attention to custom was expected and valued by the citizens, and Zhenya had no wish to disappoint them, or more accurately, to give them cause to distrust him. He respected the beliefs of his parents (mostly his mother) and of the clerics, but he’d have dispensed with the whole rigmarole if he’d had his choice. But this was his duty, so he stood quietly and allowed the clerics to say their blessings over him and waft their burning herbs as his outer robes were removed.

Underneath his robes were his tunic and trousers, which had been made with a flap at the front (“easy access,” Sasha had joked). He wouldn’t undress further than this, at least not for this ceremonial consummation. He’d be expected to achieve a minimum objective today, the most that could be hoped for in these high-pressure and decidedly not private circumstances.

One of the sub-clerics stood at his side. “Your Royal Highness, will you require assistance readying yourself?” he asked, quietly. Sasha, lurking behind him, snorted.

“Assistance?” Zhenya said, puzzled...but then it hit him. He was being asked if he’d need help getting it up. It stood to reason that he might, with people watching and the Fate of the Kingdom Depending and blah blah blah. Anxiety was not typically the friend of erections. The sub-cleric was offering a helping hand, so to speak. Zhenya had heard stories. Supposedly there’d once been a groom nervous enough that the sub-cleric had to use his mouth on him before he could manage it.

Zhenya didn’t think he’d need quite that much assistance; indeed, he hoped he wouldn’t need any. “Let’s...proceed, and we’ll see,” he said. The sub-cleric nodded and went to the door into the main chamber.

It was dim inside, fragrant with burning herbs. Several clerics were lined up at the far side of the room, chanting quietly. Behind a screen stood half a dozen shadowy figures; witnesses, drawn from the nobility and the royal family. Zhenya didn’t know who was back there and he didn’t care to know. He would likely never know; it was considered rude to disclose one’s presence at such an occasion. Zhenya had himself been a witness at his cousin’s consummation five years ago. You really couldn’t see much at all, through the screen and the awkward angle.

At the moment, however, his attention was captivated by the bed in the center of the room, and his consort upon it. He was laid out on his stomach, covered in drapes even including his head -- Zhenya worried for a moment if he could breathe adequately under there. Two of his guards stood at the head of the bed, eyes fixed firmly forward. The drapes extended from over his consort’s head past his feet, and in the center was an oval-shaped cutout exposing what was, without question, the most fantastic backside Zhenya had ever seen in his life, and he’d seen his fair share.

No. He would not be needing assistance. In fact, he felt himself swelling at the sight of just this one part of his new consort’s body. It was odd, and unexpectedly titillating, to be presented with a more-or-less disembodied ass, even if he could see the shape of the rest of the man under the drape -- but, he supposed, that titillation shouldn’t really be unexpected; why else did glory holes exist? Not that he’d ever partaken of such things, in clubs, in his slightly-wilder youth, absolutely not. But this was his _ husband, _ not a late night quickie. It wouldn’t be like this all the time, he assured himself. This was just for the ceremonial bit. Future couplings would be much less...ritualized.

They were all looking at him, waiting for him to get to it, but there was a step to be taken first. He glanced at the cleric and nodded. The cleric hesitated, then moved to the head of the bed. This was Zhenya’s personal addition to the ceremonies, and the cleric had been reluctant to deviate from the traditional sequence of events, but Zhenya had insisted.

He had no interest in a spouse who’d been forced into marrying him, as he’d made sure his parents understood before they set out to find him one. “I do have one condition, and it is non-negotiable,” he’d said.

His father had looked surprised. “What is it, son?”

“I require absolute assurance that any consort of mine enters into marriage to me of their own free will, and not under duress.”

His parents had exchanged a glance. “That should not be difficult; marriage into our family is considered very desirable.”

“Be that as it may, I need you to promise me, Father..”

His father had nodded, and seemed even pleased by this directive. “You have my word, son.”

And now, the cleric spoke to the consort on Zhenya’s behalf. “Your Highness,” he said, using the man’s new title -- after the embargo was lifted, he would become His Royal Highness, the same honorific that Zhenya received. “Prince Evgeni wishes me to ask you for your consent before he joins with you.” Zhenya saw the consort’s head turn to the side. “He values your agreement to this consummation.”

The man hesitated. Zhenya saw the surprise in his shoulders. His head turned further, seeming to look back over his shoulder at Zhenya, and he nodded.

The cleric straightened up. “Does this satisfy Your Royal Highness?” There was just a touch of “are you happy now?” impatience in the cleric’s voice which Zhenya chose to ignore.

Zhenya nodded. He removed his gloves and handed them to Sasha, who was being appropriately quiet and invisible for once in his life. He unbuttoned the flap on the front of his trousers; he was half-erect already and filling fast.

He knelt on the bed. He wasn’t supposed to make any unnecessary contact this first time, but he couldn’t help but run his hands briefly over his husband’s smooth, muscular rear. Just like that, he was fully hard and more than ready. He placed his knees within the drapery cutout on either side of the consort’s hips; the man shifted slightly, spreading his thighs a little bit to give him room. Zhenya reached back and tucked his cock down and against the man’s entrance, relieved to find that he was, indeed, slick. He pressed forward and entered him; Zhenya stifled a groan and felt a shudder pass over the man beneath him. He was tight and warm; Zhenya held still for a moment with his eyes closed and hips pressed against his consort’s impossibly plump ass. 

He braced on his hands and shut his eyes, making smooth, even thrusts. There’d be time later to investigate what kind of sex his husband _ enjoyed, _ but now was the time to be quick about it and get the job done. He tried to visualize success, as the clerics liked to say during their instruction, and picture his seed finding its target and blossoming in his consort’s womb. The minimum embargo time was three months; even if he conceived right now, early pregnancy was so delicate that it wasn’t considered official until the three--month mark. After carrying to three months, the consort was accepted into the family and unveiled, even if the child was subsequently lost.

Zhenya had often wondered about consorts who failed to conceive and were replaced. Who was to say that it was their fault? Both parties underwent pre-marriage medical testing to minimize this risk, but bodies were unpredictable. Of course it might not be the consort’s fault; the would-be sire could just as easily be the one whose biology failed them, but such a thing could not be admitted for a royal scion. He’d heard one tale, possibly apocryphal, of a prince whose consort hadn’t conceived -- unwilling to accept defeat, the prince had asked his consort to get _ him _ pregnant, which she had done, and their embargo was released.

The contemplation of such machinations was premature, he knew. He and his new consort had only just begun.

As keyed up as he was, it didn’t take long for him to finish. He thrust in deep and spilled, clenching his teeth against the desire to cry out. He felt his consort sigh and press back against him a little, a welcome signal of acknowledgment. Zhenya let his head droop for a moment, then straightened up and pulled out. Sasha was right there with a cloth for him to clean himself before he refastened his pants.

The cleric stepped forward and blessed the union, prayers for the success of the joining, yadda yadda. Zhenya barely paid attention. Sasha was replacing his robe on him, but all Zhenya could do was look at the draped form of his new husband, especially the one part of it that he could see, and hope that it wouldn’t be too long before he could see the rest of it.

He let Sasha lead him out of the chamber, glad that was over -- but in another, very real sense, it was just beginning. He was now a married man, with a responsibility to his consort, who was at something of a disadvantage in this situation. He hoped he could be a good, supportive husband to him, until at last the day came that he’d be allowed to see his face.


	2. Chapter 2

The Duke and Duchess of New Scotland arrived at Zhenya’s drawing room at the arranged time, the day after the wedding. Zhenya shook their hands and invited them to sit in what Sasha called the “conversation area.” Tea was ordered, and Zhenya tried to look as responsible and respectable as he could for these people who had just entrusted their son to him. He watched them as the footman served their tea, trying not to be too obvious about searching for clues to his consort’s appearance in their faces. They were both perfectly nice-looking people. The Duke seemed athletic, the Duchess was well turned-out.

“I’m so glad to finally have the chance to talk with you,” Zhenya said. They had met, just long enough to shake hands, when they’d arrived, but no more than that.

“So are we, Your Royal Highness,” the Duke said.

“Please. Call me Zhenya.”

“We would have been glad to meet with you before the wedding,” the Duchess said.

Zhenya shifted in his chair. “I’m new to embargoes, but I was advised that given how little time you have with your son before his marriage, such intrusion on my part wasn’t -- polite?”

The Duchess nodded, looking a little sad. “We appreciated having those days with him.”

“Has he has been pleased with his stay here so far?” Zhenya asked, cautiously.

“Oh yes,” the Duchess said. “It’s so much grander here than at home. New Scotland is a modest dukedom.”

“Ah, but grander doesn’t always mean better.”

“That is so. But everyone has been very welcoming.”

“I hope he wasn’t frightened, coming so far to a strange place.”

“I think you’ll find that not much frightens our son,” the Duchess said, pride beaming from her face.

“I look forward to the chance to learn about him. As long as the embargo is in place, I will have to rely on third party accounts, and even those are frowned upon.”

The Duke nodded. “He is prepared for the realities.”

Zhenya shifted. “When my parents began their search for a consort for me, I made it very clear that I would not accept a spouse who had been coerced, or who accepted marriage to me under duress. My father has assured me that he did not. I will ask you to make me the same assurance.”

They both looked shocked at the very idea of their son having been forced. “Oh, not at all,” the Duchess said. “Our son has ambitions to help others and be an active part of a responsible government, and given our relatively modest position, his best chance was to marry into such a situation. He had a number of offers, and he found your parents’ proposition appealing, so he accepted.”

“He had many offers?”

There was the pride again on the Duchess’s face. “Our son is very…” she began, but then the Duke put a gentle hand on her arm and she stopped.

“He has long been considered a very desirable prospect,” the Duke finished.

Zhenya nodded. “It seems I have gotten the better end of our arrangement.”

“Oh no, sir. We did our homework, and so did our son. We all felt that you were an honorable man, kind-hearted. So far, nothing here has made us think we were mistaken.” She leaned in a little, as if sharing a secret. “Our guards and valets have talked to the palace staff -- we know that’s the way to find out the truth. They all speak highly of you.”

“That’s very gratifying to hear,” Zhenya said. “We are committed to treating our staff fairly and respectfully.”

The Duchess winked at him. “I would be lying if I didn’t say that our son found your height and your, uh, general form to be pleasing.”

Zhenya felt absurdly fluttery to hear that his consort found him attractive. “As I’m sure I will his,” he said, thinking back to the one part of his consort’s body that he  _ had _ seen. If that were any indication, “pleasing” would be a wild understatement. “I am conscious of what it must mean to you to deliver your son to a stranger for marriage, and to leave him, and hopefully your grandchild, in the care of others. I will do my best to deserve his trust,” he said, hoping they could hear the sincerity in his voice. “And yours.”

* * *

“So you think it took?” was Sasha’s first question when Zhenya met him at the stables for their lunchtime ride. “The consummation, I mean.”

“How am I supposed to know that?”

“Don’t you have a divine intuition or something?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Well, so far I’d say you got lucky. That guy’s got the juiciest ass I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s my husband you’re talking about, fucker.”

“Like you didn’t notice. You had a half-chub going the second you laid eyes on it.”

“You like women.”

“That doesn’t make me  _ blind. _ ”

“I’m trying not to objectify him.”

“Isn’t that the whole point of embargo?”

“Not to me.” Zhenya hesitated. “What do you know about the offers he had, other than mine?”

“Just what I hear, you know, round the lamppost.”

“Which is?”

“Apparently there was some oil billionaire from Texas who was very keen. Kept sending him cars and horses and such. One of his guards told me that the guy came to visit twice, and the second time, he got his hand on the consort’s ass one time too many and ended up in a chokehold.”

“The guards put him in a chokehold?”

Sasha grinned. “Your consort did.”

“Oh,” Zhenya said, blinking. “So he could have married very well without having to go through an embargo.”

“Yeah, seems like. You weren’t the only crown royal, either. Word around the campfire is that Princess Amaruq made him an offer.”

“He was accepting offers from women?”

“According to one of the Duchess’s maids, he prefers men but was willing to consider women. Amaruq’s lovely, and she’s really sporty, which apparently he likes.”

“Maybe he just didn’t want to live in Fairbanks.”

Sasha was eyeing him. “Why all these questions?”

“Just...his mother was talking about how he’d had a lot of offers, and she started to say something like ‘Our son is very…’ and then the Duke cut her off.”

Sasha gave him a dry look. “Sounds like your consort’s a snack.”

“You think?”

“Well, what else was she about to say, other than he’s very attractive? Do you think he had a lot of offers because he was very well-read or very punctual?”

“Some people value punctuality.”

“Yeah, but the Duke wouldn’t have stopped her from saying that.”

“Well, no matter what, I won’t find out for at least three months, so there’s no use wondering. There’s more to a marriage than that.”

Sasha shrugged. “Doesn’t hurt, though.” 

They rode out on their usual route, out around the lake and through the orchards, skirting the gardens behind the palace as they returned. Zhenya’s hat flew off and he drew his horse up short, handing the reins to Sasha and hopping off to run back and retrieve it. “Zhenya,” Sasha muttered, jerking his head toward the garden.

He looked and saw his consort walking in the garden with his guards, five of them. One walked abreast and seemed to be talking to him, then two in front, two behind. The guard walking alongside wore extra decoration on his uniform;  _ must be the captain _ , Zhenya thought. Now that the wedding was over, the consort was wearing less elaborate daily-wear veils; they fell only to mid-thigh, flowing over his face and torso. Zhenya could discern nothing of his face or body. Zhenya recognized three of the guards from the ceremony yesterday. The captain had been inside the bonding chamber, and two of the others had been outside. The other two were new to him -- of course, he thought, they can’t all be on duty at once. He must have a rotation. One was a strong-looking woman with a blond ponytail, the other was a square, bow-legged man with one of the handsomest faces Zhenya had ever seen. If he’d met him in a club, he’d have sidled on up and tried to find out which way he swung, for certain. 

Zhenya looked away and chastised himself. He was a married man; he shouldn't be ogling his husband’s good-looking guards.

When he looked again, the head guard was watching him and directing the consort’s attention to where Zhenya and Sasha were, on the far side of the garden. Caught off-guard, Zhenya lifted his hand in a lame little wave; the consort inclined his head in acknowledgment. The group kept moving and were soon out of sight.

“Wow,” Sasha said. “I’m going to report you for violating embargo with that embarrassing display of excess.”

Zhenya rolled his eyes. “Just trying to be civil.”

* * *

Soon after returning to his office, Zhenya’s private secretary, Alex, poked his head in. “Sir, the head of the consort’s guard wishes to speak with you. Shall I tell him to make an appointment?”

“No, I have time. Please show him in.” Zhenya got up and straightened his waistcoat, overcome with the desire to impress this man. Which was ridiculous -- he was the crown Prince -- but it couldn’t be denied.

The guard entered, hat under his arm, and saluted him smartly. “Your Royal Highness,” he said. It was the same man he’d seen earlier with the consort, who he’d deduced to be the captain. He was slender and handsome in a sharp-featured way. All the men in the guard seemed to be handsome. Zhenya wondered if that was by design.

“Please, come in, have a seat.”

The guard looked like he might prefer to stand, but after a brief hesitation he moved to the chair Zhenya indicated and perched ramrod-straight on the edge. “Thank you for seeing me, sir. My name is Fleury, I am the captain of His Highness’s guard. I thought it appropriate that we should meet.”

“I agree, Captain Fleury. I would have sent for you myself, but I didn’t think it my place.”

“Correct.”

Zhenya blinked. “That’s not what I expected you to say.”

Fleury smiled; Zhenya detected a mischievous twinkle in the man’s eye. “That’s one of the things I wanted to talk about. It’s already come up a few times so I thought I ought to make sure everyone here is aware that my guards and I do not work for you or the Palace. We work for His Highness, and we answer to nobody else. Our loyalty and obedience are to him and him alone.”

Zhenya nodded. This was, indeed, a good point to clarify. “Understood, Captain. I will make this clear to all the Palace staff, including my own guards.”

“Once the embargo is lifted, His Highness will be under the protection of your guard just as you are and our jobs will be complete, but until that time, he is our responsibility.”

“Thank you for taking that responsibility seriously.”

“I take it very seriously.” Fleury cleared his throat. “Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but His Highness and I are longtime friends and he is very dear to me, and to my guards. So we take his safety and well-being personally.”

“Good.” Zhenya held the man’s gaze. He did not acknowledge the implied threat to himself in that statement but he heard it clearly, and Fleury obviously knew that he’d heard it clearly. They understood each other.

Fleury gave a little nod, as if to close the topic. “Okay. Onto the practical stuff.” He pulled out a notebook and a pen. Zhenya half-wished he had the same; he felt like he ought to be taking notes. “His Highness wants to know what time of day you prefer for sex.”

Zhenya blinked. He hadn’t expected such frankness, but it was a relief to hear it. “Um...I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“He likes to maintain a routine, if that’s okay with you.”

“If he prefers that, I’m happy to go along.” He thought for a moment. “Would midafternoon suit him? Evenings are so often taken up with state functions, and I am usually tired afterwards.”

Fleury smiled, and Zhenya sensed that he’d passed some kind of unannounced test. “That sounds good. Let’s set a daily appointment at 3:00 pm, with a confirmation by messenger at 2:30 and an option to postpone, but no later than 4:00 pm.”

Zhenya nodded. “Your master is very organized.”

Fleury chuckled quietly. “Oh, you’re going to find out.” He looked up at him. “He also wanted me to tell you that he really appreciated your gesture at the consummation, when you asked him for consent? It surprised him and put him at ease.”

“I’m glad to hear that. It was important to me and continues to be.”

“He thought so. So he’s got an idea for that, going forward. For -- intimate moments. If he makes this gesture…” Fleury held out his hand in a thumbs-down…”that means he wants you to stop whatever it is you’re doing. If he does not make that gesture, you may assume you have his consent to proceed. And you should use that signal for yourself, too.”

Zhenya hadn’t really known what to expect of his new husband, but it certainly hadn’t been this. “He would seem to be a thoughtful man of foresight.”

Fleury nodded. “He is, sir. Does that work for you?”

“It does. Please thank him for giving me a way to know how he’s feeling.”

“I will.” He hesitated. “And look, just -- thanks. From me, and the rest of us who care about him. I didn’t know what to expect of you. We did our research and you seem like a decent man, but many highborn people, even decent ones, when presented with a consort, would often take the opportunity to do as they liked with no thought for the consort’s wishes.”

“I am not such a man,” Zhenya said, firmly.

“I can see that. And so does he.” Fleury seemed about to go on, then harrumphed and checked his notes. “His Highness is very interested in contributing to the good of the kingdom. He knows that he can’t start up any charitable works or civic responsibilities under the embargo. So he would like to ask if there is anything he can do to help either here in the palace, or in such a way that he would remain anonymous.”

“If there were, my knowing about it would be a violation of the embargo.”

“Correct. Is there someone we could go to in your stead on this matter?”

“Yes, I think so. My executive secretary, Mr. Gonchar, is often my representative in matters of this nature; I’m sure he can find a way for His Highness to contribute without my knowledge or anyone else’s. You may tell him that both he and His Highness have my permission to undertake whatever projects they deem appropriate.”

“Very good. We will consult with him.” Fleury rose to his feet. “That’s all I have for now, Your Royal Highness. Thank you for being open to my comments.”

Zhenya rose. “I…” He sighed and looked at his feet. “Please tell my husband that my greatest wish is that he be comfortable and content here, and that our embargo may be brief.”

Fleury’s eyes narrowed. “That’s pushing embargo, don’t you think?”

“Probably.”

His gaze warmed a little. “Even if I can’t pass your words on to him, I have heard them myself. That isn’t nothing.” He winked, then turned and took his leave.

_ Cheeky, _ Zhenya thought. But he liked him.

* * *

Fleury had not been gone half an hour when a messenger appeared with a card. “From His Highness,” the messenger said. “He awaits your reply.” He stood back while Zhenya opened the card, glancing at the clock. Sure enough, it was 2:30 on the dot. The card was a quaint touch, but a necessary one -- the embargo forbid them from texting or phoning each other, so this was all they had.

> _ Your confirmation is requested for today’s scheduled appointment with the Prince Consort at 3:00 p.m. in the Royal Bedchamber. Please indicate your response below. _
> 
> _ _ ___ Accepted _
> 
> _ ____Cancelled _
> 
> _ ____Postponement to _____ o’clock requested _
> 
> _ Yours very sincerely, _
> 
> _ The Prince Consort _

Zhenya stared at the card with its neat lettering and multiple-choice responses, feeling an absurd lump rise in his throat. He could fall in love with this man and his endearing routines without ever having seen his face or heard his voice, embargo be damned.

He placed a check mark next to “Accepted” and sent the messenger back, then headed to his own chambers. He wanted to shower before his appointment.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have been so encouraging, so surprise, here's chapter 3 early.

The Royal Bedchamber that his consort had mentioned in his message was not Zhenya’s bedroom, nor was it the Consort’s. Their respective rooms were almost next to each other, but not quite -- between them, and with a door leading to each, was the so-called Royal Bedchamber, which was used only during embargo for intimate relations. Once the Consort had conceived and the embargo was lifted, any intimacy they chose to engage in would take place in either of their own rooms.

Zhenya showered, scrubbing himself well. This was the first time he’d really be having relations with his husband -- the ritualized consummation during the wedding hardly counted. It was rare for sex between embargoed partners to reach the level of passionate lovemaking, but they could be more relaxed with each other, and enjoy a more personal experience, than they could do with a cleric standing over them.

The best part, though, was that even though Zhenya would still not see his husband’s face or even most of his body, he would definitely get to see his cock, and he was looking forward to it.

He suspected that his new husband was a man who appreciated punctuality, so he waited until precisely 3:00 pm, then opened the door into the bedchamber.

The consort was sitting on the large, low bed that was the main piece of furniture in the room. He’d changed out of the black drapings he’d been wearing earlier in the garden and into lighter, flesh-toned veils that still concealed him while being a little less forbidding. They covered him only to the middle of his chest and were entirely opaque; Zhenya wondered, not for the first time, how the consort could see through them. He straightened up as Zhenya entered. Sitting there on the bed with his legs folded under him, perked up at attention, the man looked like an eager schoolchild waiting to be called on. His consort had yet to speak a single word to him, but Zhenya was utterly charmed.

Zhenya shut the door behind him and lurked there for a moment, not quite sure how, exactly, to approach having sex with this man. Should he just climb aboard and go to it? Seemed so abrupt, and borderline rude. There was no need for pretense -- they both knew why they were here -- but that didn’t seem like any reason to abandon all niceties, just because they couldn’t make small talk or kiss.

His consort seemed to sense his hesitation -- he took a breath, unfolded his legs, stretched out and...well, there was no other way to put it... _ displayed _ himself.

Zhenya’s breath caught. His husband -- it still felt new and strange to even think the word -- was toned and muscular, with magnificent thighs and a narrow waist, the V of his hips drawing Zhenya’s gaze to his impressive cock, sizable even in its flaccid state. Zhenya couldn’t see the man’s face, but he knew that the consort was watching him.

Zhenya slipped out of his dressing gown, revealing his own nudity. His cock was filling rapidly; his balls felt heavy beneath it, as if the task he was here to accomplish weighed upon them. He let his eyes roam up his consort’s strong legs and hips, and all at once he knew what he wanted.

He stepped to the foot of the bed and made a “turn over” motion with one hand. The consort rolled over, keeping his drapings carefully in place, and Zhenya’s cock plumped further at the sight of him. He knelt on the bed and slid his hands to his consort’s hips, urging him up to his knees. Free now to do so, he palmed the smooth, muscled globes, slipping his thumbs between them. The consort arched his back and pressed into Zhenya’s touch in a silent urge to keep going.

Zhenya parted his cheeks, exposing his hole, and then swiftly buried his face there, swiping his tongue up the center with a low growl. He’d wanted to eat this ass since he’d first laid eyes on it, and the reality was even better than his fantasy. The consort smelled clean and masculine, electric like the scent that rose from the earth after a thunderstorm, and Zhenya felt him jump and shudder at the sudden contact. He slipped off his hands where he’d braced on them and sank down to rest on his elbows, dipping his back lower and pressing his ass into Zhenya’s face.

Zhenya relished in the breathy gasps he was wringing from his mate as he worked him over with his mouth. The consort’s cock hung heavy and hard now between his thighs, dripping; Zhenya reached up and stroked it in time with the thrusts of his tongue. He could feel his consort’s pussy getting slick as well; he dipped his tongue lower to swipe across it, drawing a deeper shudder. His own arousal was cresting; he might come without even a hand to himself at this rate, and he had a job to do.

He left off his attentions and knelt up behind his husband, who read the change and moved to spread his thighs and present himself. Zhenya grasped his hips and mounted him quickly, not wanting to finish prematurely and cause an awkward delay while he worked back up to hardness. The consort met his thrusts eagerly, his erection still bobbing free; Zhenya wanted to hang on long enough to bring him to completion as well. He grasped his husband’s cock again and stroked him, keeping a rhythm he hoped would be pleasing; evidently it was, for after only a few strokes the consort stiffened and came over Zhenya’s hand, his passage pulsing and clenching and drawing Zhenya’s orgasm from him. He thrust deep and came hard into his husband’s body, visualizing again a successful conception.

As they both came down, breathing deeply in counterpoint, Zhenya withdrew and collapsed onto his back at the consort’s side. His mate stayed where he was for a moment, then he rolled to his back and tucked his legs close to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. Zhenya recognized this as a superstitious posture to maximize the chances of conception. He had his doubts about its effectiveness, but it wasn’t his place to judge his consort’s habits, or his superstitions. What was the harm? After a few minutes during which Zhenya looked his fill at his husband’s fine body while he was otherwise occupied, the consort uncurled himself and rose. He turned to face Zhenya, put his hand to his chest and gave him a little bow, then quickly left the room. Zhenya lingered for a moment, enjoying the lazy post-sex lassitude, before he began to feel self-conscious and retreated to his own chamber to clean up and dress before dinner.

* * *

Zhenya was restless that night. He hadn’t eaten much at dinner, so distracted had he been by thoughts of the surprisingly good sex he’d had with his new husband, not to mention everyone’s endless teasing about his newlywed status. His consort had not been present; it was nearly impossible for embargoed spouses to share meals given the drapings and veils required, not to mention the restriction on both of their speech, so consorts typically ate privately, in the company of their own guards and attendants where they would be allowed to remove their veils. In fact, Zhenya hadn’t seen his consort all evening, and would very likely not see him again until the next day’s 3:00 appointment.

He wondered how many of those appointments they would have. Their wedding would have been scheduled to coincide with his consort’s most receptive time, which would last for as long as a week, but after that the odds of conception were low. The usual custom was that relations took place only if both parties desired them to, until the next cycle of fertility came around. His consort had seemed to enjoy their appointment today, but would he wish to continue when his chances of conceiving dropped? Zhenya would leave that decision to him. 

Dammit. Now he was restless  _ and  _ hungry. He glanced at the clock -- after midnight. The kitchens would be deserted.

He rose and put on slippers and his dressing gown and snuck down the back staircase to the kitchen.

Which...was not deserted.

Sitting at the long stainless-steel prep table, holding a large bowl of ice cream and spoon frozen halfway to his mouth, staring at Zhenya with wide, surprised eyes, was one of his consort’s guards, the one he’d noticed earlier with the bow legs and the handsome face. As Zhenya watched, a dribble of ice cream slid from the corner of his mouth and fell to the spotless tabletop. He looked like a child, caught stealing sweets from the cupboard.

“Well, you’re caught,” Zhenya said. “Off to the gallows with you.”

The man seemed to remember himself. He dropped the bowl and spoon with a clatter and jumped to his feet, saluting smartly -- it looked odd on a man clad in a threadbare t--shirt and loose sleeping pants. “Your Royal Highness, my apologies. I…”

“At ease,” Zhenya said, flapping a hand. “I just came down for a late night snack myself. Looks like you had the same idea.” He went to the cabinet, in search of the graham cookies that were his favorite. “Ah ha,” he said, pulling out a tin. He poured some milk and joined his mystery guest at the island. The guard had resumed his ice cream binge. Zhenya peered over. “What flavor is that?”

The guard licked his lips. “Butter pecan.”

“Mmm. My favorite.”

“Mine, too.” He looked down at his bowl of ice cream, then cleared his throat. “Sir, I really do apologize. I’m…”

“Never mind. You don’t report to me, right? We’re...colleagues. If anything. Besides, I’d be a fool not to make friends with one of the men who guards my husband.”

The guard tilted his head to the side with a shrug, a “that’s a good point” sort of gesture. He thought for a moment, then stuck out his hand. “I’m Sidney,” he said.

Zhenya shook it. “Call me Zhenya.”

“Hoo, I don’t know if I can do that.”

“How about just here in the kitchen, and only after midnight?”

“I’ll try.”

Zhenya ate two cookies and washed them down with milk. “Have you been guarding His Highness for long?”

Sidney swallowed. “I’m new. Transferred into the Consort’s detail from the Prime Minister’s.”

“So you transfer in and immediately get stationed halfway across the world?”

This statement was met with a blank look. “That’s  _ why _ I transferred. I wanted to come. See another place, experience a different kind of life. I’d never left New Scotland before, so when the Earl -- sorry, the Consort -- asked me if I’d like to join his guard, I said yes.”

Zhenya wondered if this new guard would be more amenable to divulging intelligence than his captain was. The consort might be dedicated to the integrity of the embargo, but Zhenya wasn’t above a little snooping. “So you don’t know the Consort very well yet?”

“No, I’ve known him since we were kids. I just never guarded him before.”

“He seems like a good man.”

“That’s not for me to judge.” He hesitated. “But that’s what’s said of him.”

“What does he look like?”

A smirk spread over Sidney’s mouth. “You know I’m not supposed to talk to you about him like that. The embargo and all.”

“Is he handsome? Tell me that much.”

Sidney flushed a little and looked away. Zhenya wondered why he’d find that question embarrassing. “He’s...often told that he is.”

“Hmm. Well, I hope I’ll get to see for myself.”

“I’m sure he does, too.”

“His mother said he had a lot of marriage proposals.”

Sidney snorted. “Yeah. Most of them boring as shit, or rich people who wanted a spouse with a title.”

“You knew who’d proposed to him?”

“Everyone talked about it. Heck, people were laying bets on who he’d accept.”

“What were my odds?”

Sidney grinned. “Even. Best odds in the pool. I told him he should bet on one of the long shots then pick him, take the money and run off to the country.”

“Not a bad plan.”

He shrugged. “He’s the one who has to marry the guy.” He blinked, hearing what he’d just said. “Sorry. That wasn’t...I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m glad he picked you.”

“No insult taken.” Zhenya ate another cookie. “I hope he’s glad, too.”

Sidney smiled. “Yeah. I think he is.”


	4. Chapter 4

The next day’s 3:00 p.m. appointment was just as satisfying as their first. Zhenya entered the bedchamber to find his consort waiting for him, veiled as before, except instead of sitting primly, he was already stretched out on his side, looking relaxed and even...eager. He’d reached up to help Zhenya off with his dressing gown and pulled him down to the bed. Zhenya had lain between his legs to enter him this time, pushing his thighs back against his chest to spread him wide. The consort had wrapped those thick legs around Zhenya’s waist, pulling him closer and placing his hands on Zhenya’s chest, and Zhenya had come so hard he feared the top of his head had blown off. Afterwards, he’d slid down and taken his husband’s cock in his mouth to bring him to orgasm, his hands in Zhenya’s hair, tightening into fists when he came.

Over the next few days, life began to settle into normalcy. Matters of state demanded Zhenya’s attention, but he would not hear of missing their appointments -- it certainly made an excellent excuse for getting out of boring meetings. Several times he saw his husband walking on the grounds or inside the palace, always heavily draped and always accompanied by his guards. On two occasions, those guards included his midnight snack friend Sidney, looking sharp and handsome in his uniform -- he also had a spectacular ass, Zhenya couldn’t help but notice. What was in the water over there in New Scotland that it produced so many handsome and well-proportioned men? All of his husband’s male guards were excessively pleasing to look at -- the female guards were, as well, but Zhenya took less notice of them, as they were not to his taste. The second in command of the guard, Lieutenant Letang, looked like an Instagram model.

It only whetted Zhenya’s appetite further to know what his husband looked like beneath his drapings and veils. He hoped fervently for him to conceive, so that the countdown to their embargo’s end could begin and they could anticipate his unveiling together.

* * *

On the fifth day after his marriage, Zhenya went to the stables after breakfast, for no real reason other than to visit his horses and perhaps brush them, an activity he found soothing. When he arrived, he found Sidney there, standing at a stall and feeding apple slices to Lady Esther, a sweet-natured gray mare, cooing to her softly and stroking her neck. She looked quite besotted, which Zhenya could understand. Sidney looked up when Zhenya entered but did not snap to attention, merely smiled in greeting. “Good morning, Your Royal Highness,” he said. 

“Good morning,” he said, mildly confused to find him there.

“I hope you don’t mind my visiting your stables,” he said. “I love horses and miss the ones I had to leave behind in New Scotland.”

“I don’t mind.” Zhenya said, picking up a brush. “I’m sure they will appreciate the extra attention.” He went into Admiral’s stall and began brushing him. “You grew up with horses?”

Sidney hesitated for a moment. “I started out working as a groom on the Duke and Duchess’s estate, that’s how I met His Highness. I was a good rider in my youth and nearly became competitive, but...it didn’t work out.”

Zhenya didn’t press the matter. “You’re welcome to ride here.”

Sidney looked up at him. “Really?”

“Of course. Except for Admiral, he is mine. All the other horses are for the use of the palace residents and staff. The grooms can advise you on which horse might suit you.” He smiled. “Lady Esther might be a little tame for your taste.”

Sidney stroked her nose. “She’s a sweetheart. That’s my taste.”

Zhenya made a quick decision. “Care to go for a ride now?”

“Could we?” Sidney said, wide-eyed.

“Sure. I have a little free time, if you have.”

“I’m not back on duty until after lunch.”

“Then let me show you my favorite trail.”

The grooms saddled Admiral and Lady Esther -- Sidney could not be dissuaded -- and they rode out towards the lake.

“It’s beautiful here,” Sidney said, after a few minutes’ silence.

“It is. I’m so used to it, it’s useful to be reminded.” He glanced over at his companion’s strong profile. “What does New Scotland look like?”

“It’s on the water, quite rocky. It has its own beauty, but here it feels...wider.”

“You miss it.”

“In a way. It’s where I was born and raised. But there comes a time when you want something new.”

Zhenya sighed. “I wouldn’t know. I am bound to this land, by blood and law. I may visit other places, but here is where I was born and where I shall die.”

They were quiet for a moment. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yes.”

“Why isn’t your brother the crown prince? He’s older, is he not?”

“Yes, he is. My brother was unwilling to go through the embargo. He abdicated his claim to the throne many years ago.”

“He was...unwilling?”

“He has taken a calling to orders, which disqualifies him from being King.”

“I see. And you felt no such calling?” Sidney’s voice was cautious.

“My faith is what you might call...performative.”

Sidney grinned. “A heathen King?”

Zhenya laughed. “Don’t spread that around. I respect that it’s important to many of my citizens, although I know there are many who wouldn’t care. Sometimes I feel dishonest, to go through the motions for their benefit, but I must weigh my conscience against the health of my reign.”

“But you believe in the embargo.”

“The embargo may have the trappings of a matter of devotion, but in reality it’s a practical consideration, not a religious one. It began as a sacred rite, but now it’s more a cultural practice.”

Sidney nodded. “That’s well-put.”

“My husband is more...devoted, is he not?”

He glanced at Zhenya. “What makes you think so?”

“His strict observance of the embargo.”

“As you say, the embargo is more cultural than religious.”

“So he is not? Religious?”

“You’d have to ask him, once you’re allowed. But I would say...casually? Observing the holidays, and such.”

“Ah. In that we are similar.” They rode in silence for a few minutes. “A question of my own, if I may?”

“Of course.”

“You seem very...comfortable with me. Informal, even. I don’t mind -- in fact, it’s refreshing -- but it’s not an attitude I often encounter.”

Sidney shifted in his saddle and looked away, seeming a bit uncertain how to answer. “I apologize if I presume too much on such a short acquaintance.”

“I said I didn’t object. You are not one of my subjects, after all. You report to the consort.”

“Perhaps it’s my long acquaintance with him that’s to blame. I’ve grown accustomed to a casual manner with those far above my station. He encourages such familiarity from those around him.”

“It’s been my observation that those who insist on strict etiquette and become angry when the trappings of rank aren’t observed to the letter are those who are insecure in their station, and need people to bow and scrape to them to bolster their self-image.”

Sidney laughed. “That’s your observation, eh?”

“Do you disagree?”

“Not at all, I’m just surprised to hear a Crown Prince say so. But it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve surprised me, Your Royal Highness.” His eyes twinkled as he spoke the title, and Zhenya felt a guilty flutter in his stomach. Sidney beamed a wide smile, and the flutter became a full on gut-twisting wrench -- the man had the most beautiful smile Zhenya had ever seen.

* * *

The next morning, Sasha was lurking around Zhenya’s quarters, polishing shoes, while Zhenya sat reading his morning dispatches and having his tea. “You went riding with that guard yesterday,” Sasha said.

“What of it?”

He shrugged. “Nothing. Just...you know how tongues wag around here.”

“What is there to wag about?”

Sasha gave him an  _ are you serious _ look. “He is exceedingly good-looking.”

“Is he? I hadn’t noticed.” He stared at Sasha and silently dared him to call him a liar.

Sasha just shrugged. “If you wanna fuck him, then fuck him. That guy’s a four-course meal, nobody will judge you.”

“Oh, they won’t?”

“Zhenya, you’re in an arranged marriage. Nobody in an arranged marriage is expected to give up pleasurable dalliances, or even love affairs, if any come along. Once your husband’s given you an heir, he could get his own bit on the side if he wants to.”

“A week ago, I’d have agreed with you.”

Sasha put down his shoe polish and walked over to refill Zhenya’s tea, his eyes flicking to Zhenya’s face. “This consort of yours has you rattled, doesn’t he?”

Zhenya sighed. “He’s…” He hesitated. “You know Seryhoza has been giving him all the daily dispatches and reports?”

“Yes.”

“Every afternoon I find them on my desk, covered in notes. Ideas, suggestions, even corrections. And you know what? He’s always right. I’m starting to think he should be running the country, not me.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is that...well, obviously I don’t know him. But his associates are devoted to him. I’ve yet to hear a bad word spoken of him. The way he’s been with me, even in what limited contact we’re allowed…” He trailed off. “I think he must be extraordinary.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I think I could love him. Perhaps we could love each other. It could be more than an arranged marriage. He’s fulfilled everything I could have asked for from an embargoed consort and more. I can’t justify throwing away that chance after less than a week because one of his guards has a brilliant smile and a spectacular ass.”

“Your consort’s ass is nothing to shake a stick at, you know.”

Zhenya smiled. “I’m saying there’s no harm in waiting until the embargo is lifted and I can get to know him properly before everyone writes off our marriage as a loveless arrangement and we get carte blanche to fuck other people.” He shrugged. “Maybe he’ll have a horrible shrill voice and it’ll be so off-putting the whole enterprise will be doomed.”

“Oh, no. He’s got a very nice voice, not shrill at all.”

Zhenya sat straight up. “You’ve heard his voice?” he exclaimed.

Sasha just looked at him like he’d grown another head. “Zhenya, you do know that the whole no-talking rule is only for you, right? He can talk to whoever else he likes, as long as you can’t hear him.”

The rub was, Zhenya  _ did _ know that, but in his momentary flash of jealousy that Sasha had heard his husband’s voice, he’d forgotten himself. “Of course. I’m...yes.” He frowned. “You haven’t  _ seen _ him, have you?”

“Oh, God, no. That rule’s for everybody.” He stood up and took Zhenya’s breakfast tray. “I’ll be back to dress you in a bit.” He left with the tray, shutting the door behind him.

He hadn’t been gone more than ten seconds before there was a knock at the door -- not the bedroom door, but the door that led into the royal bedchamber. It could be nobody but his consort. Zhenya started to call for him to come in, then remembered himself. He got up and went to the door and opened it.

His consort was standing back a little in the usual garb he wore in this chamber -- nothing at all save his veils, the ones Zhenya was beginning to think of as his sex veils. Zhenya’s eyes slid down his toned stomach to his cock, which was semi-hard. He was a little surprised that his husband would come to him outside their scheduled appointments -- confirmed every day via messengered card just as they had been the first time -- but it was a pleasant surprise.

The consort reached out and took Zhenya’s hand, pulling him into the chamber and shutting the door after him. He began removing Zhenya’s nightclothes and leading him back to the bed. Once he’d gotten him naked and laid out on his back, he knelt next to him -- it was hard to tell behind the veils, but he seemed to be looking down at Zhenya’s face. Zhenya just waited -- clearly there was a plan here, and he’d be damned if he’d interfere with it. The consort reached out and placed his fingers over Zhenya’s eyes, gently urging him to close them. When he did, the man’s fingers pressed down a little, a clear message to keep them closed.

Zhenya lay there with his eyes shut, feeling his consort moving down the bed, the rustle of his veils moving against Zhenya’s skin, and then suddenly his warm mouth was around Zhenya’s cock. He gasped, keeping his eyes shut only with effort, and clutched at the sheets to keep from grabbing at him. 

The consort tapped his hip twice; Zhenya hoped that was a sign that he could open his eyes now. He did, and saw that his husband had spread his veils over Zhenya’s hips so that he could suck him without violating the embargo. The sight was unexpectedly erotic; he could not see his partner’s mouth on him, or even see himself. All he saw was the vague shape of his head and shoulders moving beneath the veils and his hands on Zhenya’s hips. The sensations were overwhelming. He was rock hard within seconds, biting at his lips to keep quiet. The consort was tonguing at the head of his cock in between long, luxurious strokes of his mouth down his shaft. It was exquisitely torturous.

Just when Zhenya was pondering how he’d communicate to him that he’d better stop or it would be too late, the consort pulled off and knelt up over him, his veils coming with him, keeping him concealed. He shifted to straddle Zhenya’s hips and sank down on his cock, his pussy wet and grasping. Zhenya’s hands flew to his husband’s waist and pulled him down tight; the consort covered Zhenya’s hands with his own and began to move, rolling his hips in tight arcs, his stomach clenching and his own hard cock straining away from his groin. Zhenya moved one hand to stroke him and his grinding movements sped up. The consort’s breathing sped up, he arched his back, his head tipping backwards; Zhenya could only imagine what his bared throat looked like, his flushed face…

Zhenya’s eyes widened as his brain brought up an image of Sidney’s face. What would Sidney look like, in the throes of arousal, riding him like this with his head thrown back and his cock swollen and insistent in Zhenya’s hand?

He grit his teeth and refocused on the actual man fucking him right now. Not Sidney. It didn’t need to be Sidney; his consort was all he needed, all he wanted. How could he want anyone else, when he had this impossibly sexy husband who was driving him to such ecstasies?

Zhenya was determined to get him off first. He licked his palm and stroked the consort’s cock from root to tip, giving the head a little twisting flourish that he knew was very effective when he used it on himself. The consort jerked and whined, deep in his throat, and Zhenya knew he was finding it equally effective. It only took a few more strokes before he was coming all over Zhenya’s stomach. His consort’s body pulsing around Zhenya’s cock pulled his own orgasm from him and he came, straining upwards to fill him as deeply as he could. The consort sucked in a deep breath, grasped Zhenya’s hand and placed it flat and low on his belly, covering it with both of his own and pressing it firmly to him as they shuddered together. 

Wetness gathered in Zhenya’s eyes as he shared the wish that his husband was expressing, their hands clasped over his belly, the hope that even now their child might have been created inside him and was already growing. 

Zhenya relaxed into the bed and the consort sagged into the cradle of his hips, Zhenya’s cock still snugged tight inside him. Zhenya laced their fingers together and squeezed, hoping he got the message. The consort rested there for a moment, breathing hard, before rolling away and tucking his legs to his chest as he always did, that old wives’ tale position to help the seed reach his womb.

Zhenya rose and put his robe and pajamas back on. He put his hand over his heart and bowed slightly to his consort; he was still curled on his back on the bed, but his face was turned toward him and he answered the bow with a nod. Zhenya just wished he could see if he was smiling.


	5. Chapter 5

Just before lunch, Dr. Rjskov came to Zhenya’s office. “It’s about His Highness, sir.”

Zhenya jumped up. “Is he all right?”

“He’s quite well. But his best fertility window is closing for the month. I thought you should be advised. It is of course up to you and your husband how you conduct your relationship, but he’ll be unlikely to conceive as of this afternoon.”

“This...afternoon?”

“Yes, I advised His Highness that his hormones were shifting last night, and that they’d reach their baseline levels around lunchtime today.”

“Ah.” Zhenya sat down, feeling a little deflated. That explained the surprise morning sex. His consort had wanted one last try for a conception before his fertility window closed. It had nothing to do with any thirst he had for Zhenya’s cock. “Thank you for the update, Doctor. You’ll advise us when his fertility window reopens?”

“Of course, sir. About three weeks.” He bowed and excused himself.

Zhenya sat there for a few minutes, staring down at his desktop, littered with the latest notes and suggestions from his consort’s perusal of the memos and white papers he’d gotten from Seryozha. He got to his feet, grabbed his coat and strode out of the office.

A walk. That was a fine idea. That’d set him to rights.

It was sort of working, too, until he took a turn around the athletic fields and came upon the consort and his guards in the lower rugby pitch. They were engaged in some kind of hand-to-hand combat training and, to his surprise, his husband was participating in it.

The guards were all clad in black training gear; a variety of pads, weapons and training aids were scattered in the grass. His stomach clenched; his consort was sparring with Sidney. Because that was just what he needed -- to watch a karmic re-enactment of his inner turmoil.

Sidney was shirtless, his muscled torso shining with sweat and his hands and wrists wrapped. Zhenya’s consort was wearing the same training kit the other guards were wearing, with the addition of...well, he wouldn’t have thought there was such a thing as an athletic veil, but there seemed to be. These gray veils looked to be lighter weight than his usual ones but were still opaque, and they were fastened to his clothing at strategic points to prevent them from flying up and exposing him when he moved quickly. The sides were shorter, to let his arms move freely, but his torso was still covered.

Zhenya lurked in the shadows near the gear shed and watched, feeling like a creeper. Letang was directing the sparring, and neither Sidney nor the consort seemed to be holding anything back. He watched as they moved quickly around each other, hands and feet flashing, his consort’s veils billowing around his head. Sidney was laughing, and Zhenya suddenly realized that his consort was, too. Of course, he wouldn’t be aware that Zhenya could hear him. It would be improper for him to continue to observe in secret.

He stepped out of the shadows and approached, telling himself that he had every right to walk on the grounds of his own palace. His consort saw him and abruptly drew back, causing Sidney to turn around to see what had gotten the consort’s attention. He grinned -- _dear God, that smile_. Zhenya forced himself to look only at his consort as he nodded to him and the rest of the group.

“Your Royal Highness, good morning,” Fleury said. “We were just sparring. We’re all feeling like we need some exercise.”

Zhenya nodded. As long as his consort was present, he was prohibited from speaking, a fact that Fleury seemed to abruptly remember. “Of course. Uh...your Highness, perhaps Kris should escort you back to the palace.”

The consort waved to him; Zhenya waved back as Letang and another of the guards (his name started with J...was it Justin? Jeff?) flanked him and they walked back up the hill. 

The other guards were gathering up the pads and gear. “If you’ll excuse us, sir, we should return to our duties.” Fleury bowed and followed Kris, the rest of the guards save Sidney trailing behind him.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your exercise,” Zhenya said.

Sidney shrugged, unwinding the tape from his hands. “We got in a good hour. He was feeling restless.”

“Were you going easy on him?”

“Did it look that way?”

“No, it didn’t.”

“He doesn’t need me to. He’s a good fighter. Almost as good as me,” he said, winking. “Then again, I taught him everything he knows.”

Zhenya shoved his hands in his pockets. “I keep stumbling over skills my husband possesses which I do not.”

“You could learn. I’ll teach you.”

“I’m a bit old to learn new tricks.”

“Ah yes, so old. What are you, twenty-seven?”

“Suck-up. I’m thirty-one, as you well know.”

“I’m thirty. Do I seem infirm to you?”

He couldn’t help it, his eyes crawled down Sidney’s absolutely not-infirm body. “No.”

“You’re in good shape, I’ve seen you running on the grounds.”

Zhenya swallowed hard at the thought of Sidney watching him run. “I do have a concern about my consort engaging in this kind of exercise. It’s too early for us to know, but he very well could be pregnant. Given how much effort we put into getting him that way, a stray blow to the stomach seems like a big risk. It could jeopardize everything.”

Sidney’s jaw tightened a little. “Isn’t that his call to make?”

“I don’t think it’s unreasonable that I have some input as well.”

Sidney kept his eyes on his tape-unwinding. “Perhaps he didn’t think about that. I’ll remind him. There are ways we can spar that wouldn’t pose a danger.” He met Zhenya’s eyes. “He’d no more want to endanger a pregnancy than you would, that much I know.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“He’s…” Sidney pulled on his shirt and shouldered his bag. “I think he might be frustrated that the fertility window is up today.”

“I’ve been advised. I’m surprised he’d share that with you, if you’ll pardon me saying so.”

“There isn’t a lot we don’t share between us. All of us. We’re the only ones he can really be free with. For the time being.”

“Of course.” They started walking back toward the palace. “I admit I don’t really know what to do now. I’d be disappointed not to see him for three weeks.”

“You mean not to sleep with him.”

“Only in part.”

“You think he would want to stop until the next window?”

“I have no idea what he wants.” Zhenya couldn’t believe he was discussing what was a private matter between him and his consort with a man who he could no longer deny he was wildly attracted to. “If our goal is his fertilization, why would he wish to continue?”

Sidney laughed. “You have strange ideas about consorts. The veil doesn’t turn off his libido. He’s a human, Zhenya. Of course he’s going to want to keep having sex. He has an attractive partner available to him on demand. Why wouldn’t he keep partaking of that?”

Zhenya had stopped walking and just stood there, blinking. “You think so?”

He looked back, amusement in his eyes. “I’m kind of amazed I have to tell you that.”

His mind was rewinding Sidney’s statement. “You think I’m attractive?”

A flush bloomed on Sidney’s cheeks. “Just quoting the consort.”

“Oh.” Zhenya hesitated. “_ He _ thinks I’m attractive?”

“Quit fishing for compliments,” Sidney said, laughing.

Zhenya resumed walking at Sidney’s side. “You called me Zhenya.”

“I did, didn’t I?”

* * *

Zhenya did not receive an appointment confirmation card that afternoon, to his dismay. What he did receive was another knock on his door later that evening, after he had retired to his chamber. He nearly injured himself leaping off the bed and dashing to respond.

He barely had the door shut behind him before his consort was undressing him again, but this time Zhenya intended to make his own plans. He slid his hand around the consort’s waist and down to cup his ass, pulling him tight to his chest. His other hand dipped between the consort’s legs to grasp his stiffening cock. He gave it a few strokes, staring down at his husband’s veiled face and wishing he could see his eyes, and then Zhenya dropped to his knees before him. He heard a quiet sigh from above that turned into a surprised gasp when he swallowed him down, allowing himself the pleasure of grabbing two large handfuls of his backside. He felt hands grip his hair and the consort rocked forward into his mouth. Zhenya pulled back a little and tugged at his hips, hoping to communicate to him that yes, that was what he should do. The consort got the message and began to fuck his mouth, cautiously at first and then with more vigor as Zhenya encouraged him with tugs and strokes and glances up at his veiled face. He slipped one hand between the consort’s legs and found him wet; Zhenya slid two fingers into his pussy and stroked him, eliciting more strangled gasps and groansfrom above. His fingers wet, he moved them back to his ass, circling the entrance for a moment to give him time to object, and when no objection came, slid one, then two inside.

That pushed his partner right over the edge. He grunted and came hard down Zhenya’s throat. Zhenya pulled off and stroked him through it, his consort’s whole body quivering. His husband dropped to his knees and let his veiled head fall to Zhenya’s shoulder; he was limp dead weight in Zhenya’s arms. Zhenya grinned, pleased with this result. 

The consort’s hand wandered to Zhenya’s still-hard cock, a clear offer to assist him, but he moved it away. He guided the consort to the bed -- all he wanted right now was to jerk off all over that magnificent ass. Somehow through a mixture of gestures and touches, this was communicated between them, and his husband laid himself out very appealingly on the bed, back arched and legs spread to present his rear to its best advantage. Zhenya knelt between his spread legs and quickly fisted his cock. His consort reached back with both hands to spread his cheeks wide, his head turned so he could watch Zhenya over his shoulder. Zhenya groaned and spurted his come over the round cheeks and his consort’s exposed hole. After a few moments’ recovery, he picked up one of the many towels placed around the bedchamber by the long-suffering palace attendants and wiped his partner clean, or as clean as could be achieved in this moment.

The consort turned on his side, propping his head on an elbow as if contemplating this prince he’d married. Zhenya smiled, indicating his sleepiness with a fake yawn. The consort shifted again, moving to his back and leaning his shoulders against the copious pillows on the bed. He arranged his veils, held out his arms and beckoned with his fingers. A thrill ran up Zhenya’s spine -- was he being invited to stay with him, here? It certainly seemed so.

He crawled up the bed into the waiting, veiled arms of his husband of six days and nestled his head down in the hollow of his shoulder, draping his body across the partially hidden one beneath him. His consort’s arms came up around him and held him; peace stole across his mind and ushered him quickly into sleep.

* * *

“You’re in a good mood.” Sidney said, casting his line over the lake with a practiced flick of his wrist. Zhenya had started out fishing, but had given it up and was now just lounging on the dock with an ale, watching Sidney fish and absolutely not admiring the flex of his legs and back when he cast.

“I slept well.” Indeed, in his consort’s arms he had slept better than he had in months. They’d both slept like the dead and woken up slowly, touching each other awake in the dim morning light and having gentle, drowsy sex before either of them were fully alert, his husband’s body warm and welcoming, twined around him like a climbing vine. Zhenya could still feel the smooth tightness of the consort’s pussy as he’d fucked him, one of his legs hooked over Zhenya’s forearm, his hands gripping Zhenya’s shoulders and pulling him in, urging him deeper.

“Well, that’s good. Everyone needs sleep.”

Zhenya hesitated, but it seemed silly now to turn reticent. Sidney seemed to always know everything, anyway. “You were right about the consort. He still wants to have sex with me.”

“Oh, for sure. Who wouldn’t?”

“I keep waiting to find out what you’re buttering me up for.”

“You’re going to be King, isn’t that enough?” he said, looking over his shoulder with a mischievous smirk. “Doesn’t everyone suck up to you?”

“My staff don’t seem to have gotten that memo, and my friends seem to actively do the opposite.”

Sidney kept casting. “Just out of curiosity, why aren’t you the one trying to get pregnant?”

“It’s the custom. I’m the royal one.”

“The kid would be half you either way.”

“True. This is just the way it’s done. If I’d been married off to a prince and gone to another country to be his consort, I’d be the one getting knocked up.” Zhenya frowned. “Does he resent that?”

Sidney shrugged. “Not that he’s mentioned. He always talked about wanting kids. I don’t think he cared if he was going to be the one carrying them or not.”

“Tradition encourages the consort to carry the first one, but nothing’s to stop me from carrying a second one, should we decide to have another. It would be unusual, but it’s not forbidden. Maybe we could trade off.”

“Seems fair.”

“I’m glad he wants children, and it’s not just duty. It’s nice when arranged marriages aren’t entirely abhorrent.”

“He always knew he’d have one -- an arranged marriage, I mean. He tried to look at it as a way to contribute.”

“Well, he’s certainly done that.” Zhenya got up and joined him on the shore. “Why do we always talk about him?”

“He’s what we have in common.”

“Is that all?”

Sidney looked at him. “I hope not.”

“Tell me about where you grew up. Your childhood.”

He grinned. “You don’t want to hear about my stupid kid escapades.”

“Well, now I want to hear about them _ more. _” He watched Sidney’s face flush and brighten as he began to recount a wild tale about his best friend Marc-Andre and a runaway toy wagon, and wondered why on earth he continued to torture himself.


	6. Chapter 6

A week passed.

Zhenya and his consort did not have sex every day, but it was frequent. Temporarily free from the pressure to conceive, they engaged in a variety of non-procreative activities as they explored one another’s preferences. He learned that his partner did not enjoy having his feet touched (the first thumbs-down signal he received from him) and had to deploy their signal himself when the consort had started to maneuver them into the 69 position, one he found deeply uncomfortable. That still left a lot of options, though. 

He saw Sidney almost every day. Sometimes they took a ride together, sometimes they fished. Sidney made good on his promise to teach Zhenya to spar, and he flattered himself that he was picking it up quickly. 

He tried to keep his outings with Sidney...unobtrusive, and away from too many observers. But he was pretty sure that his fondness for Sidney would be apparent to anyone who saw them together, and he was becoming increasingly confident that Sidney was fond of him, too. He worried about the staff gossiping, or thinking him a cad for socializing with another man, but given that he was literally prohibited from socializing with his consort, Sidney’s friendship was a luxury he couldn’t seem to deny himself. He’d had so few genuine, true friends in his life, and he didn’t want to give it up. Not to mention that whatever people assumed, he wasn’t actually having an affair with him -- his interactions with Sidney were wholly platonic. His attraction to him lay uneasily alongside his intense desire for his consort, and his continued admiration for how his husband was conducting himself in his new life. Seryozha sang his praises at every opportunity, and embargo or no embargo, the palace staff were all becoming very fond of him.

_ Of course they are, they actually get to talk to him, _ Zhenya sometimes groused to himself. He yearned for the day when he’d see the man’s face, and hear his voice, and finally share his life with him as they were meant to.

But unveiling his consort would mean losing Sidney. It was a trade he was prepared to make, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t dreading it.

His parents had departed on a trip abroad right after his wedding, and the day they returned was the day Zhenya hoped that they’d get news about his consort’s conception or lack thereof. He’d seen his husband several times in the palace that morning, guards in tow (no sign of Sidney, for which he was guiltily grateful)...everyone seemed to be milling around in a holding pattern, as if they all knew that today was important.

“Zhenya, my son, you look good,” his father said, hugging him enthusiastically and slapping his back. Zhenya’s father was nearly a foot shorter than he was, a source of much mirth around the palace, and it made such greetings awkward to say the least.

“You too, Papa. How was your trip?” He bent to kiss his mother’s cheeks as they moved to the settee in his parents’ drawing room.

“Dull, dull, dull. Balls and dinners and meetings and the same boring conversation every time. The only bright spot was the many congratulations on your marriage.”

“We appreciate them.”

“How is your consort, my dear?” his mother asked.

“He is very well.”

“And you are...getting along all right?”

He smiled. “We’re getting along great, mother. He’s a remarkable man.”

His father frowned. “You haven’t broken embargo, have you?”

“No sir, absolutely not. It’s just that one can’t help but deduce a few things about someone you see so often. I hear how the staff speaks of him, and I know how he’s behaved towards me. These things reveal a man’s character.”

“Of course. Just...be cautious. The whole idea of embargo is to minimize attachment.”

“I know.” He didn’t mention that the task of minimizing attachment was already a dismal failure, on several fronts.

The door opened and a page entered. “Your Majesties, Dr. Rjskov would like permission to enter with His Highness the Prince Consort.”

His father sighed. “Was he waiting by the door for a cue? I imagine this is news we should all hear.” He looked at Zhenya. “Embargo will be observed once your husband enters, son. Anything you want to say now before they come in?”

“No, sir.” Zhenya was on his feet and all but vibrating out of his clothes.

The page opened the door and Dr. Rjskov entered. At his side was the consort, draped in his dressiest veils (Zhenya had gotten to know the range of drapings he possessed) over a suit. He bowed to the King and Queen, then came to stand next to Zhenya. Dr. Rjskov was walking ramrod straight, like he was being filmed. “Your Majesties, Your Royal Highness. I come before you this afternoon with the news that His Highness, the Prince Consort, is with child.”

His father whooped and his mother cheered; they embraced each other, beaming wide, happy smiles, his mother dashing tears from her eyes. Zhenya’s heart felt like it might burst from his chest. He stood there stunned for a moment, then looked down into his consort’s upturned face and wished he could see it. He grinned and a fast exhale escaped his chest. He lifted his eyebrows in a “really?” gesture, watching the consort...he nodded quickly, the gesture containing all his own excitement and relief.

If he’d been a regular person with an ordinary spouse, learning that they were to become parents, he’d have been able to kiss him, to see the joy on his face, to babble excitedly with him and talk about what to do next. But none of that was available to him, because he was a prince, and this was his embargoed consort, and he did not even know the man’s name to exclaim it aloud in jubilation. All he could do, all he could think to do, was clasp his consort’s gloved hands and press them to his lips.

“Doctor, do you know when the consort conceived?” his father was asking. 

“Yes, based on our bloodwork, I believe His Highness conceived on the wedding day.”

Zhenya’s heart soared again; that was the best possible outcome, as it meant the shortest embargo. If all went well, he’d see his husband’s face in less than three months.

As his father and the doctor continued to talk about the embargo and the pregnancy, Zhenya just stood and let happiness wash over him. Out of sight of his parents, his consort slipped his hand into Zhenya’s, lacing their fingers together, and squeezed.

* * *

Zhenya paced in his bedroom later that night, hoping to hear a knock soon. He considered going through and knocking himself, but he didn’t want to presume. He preferred that any contact they had was initiated by the consort, and he felt pretty confident that contact  _ would _ be initiated, tonight of all nights.

He’d barely had time to internalize the news before the consort was whisked away by his mother so they could start talking about whatever baby-related plans had to be made, which of course had to be done out of Zhenya’s earshot. His father had immediately started harassing him about plans for the unveiling. Such a large occasion, the formal unveiling followed by a public introduction and a grand ball, required a lot of work and even though there was always a chance it would have to be cancelled, they’d proceed as if it would go ahead when the consort’s pregnancy reached three months.

Zhenya had finally been allowed to retire after dinner, his head spinning, half-dizzy from the emotion of the day.

_ A child. He’s carrying my child. I’m going to be a father. We’re going to be parents. _

_ I wonder if he’s told Sidney. _

The thought drew him up short. He realized with a jolt that Sidney hadn’t crossed his mind all day, which was unusual. He also hadn’t so much as glimpsed him today, which was also unusual. He wondered where he’d gotten off to. He’d seen the consort’s guards, including Fleury and Letang and Crosby (the strong blond ponytailed woman he’d noticed the first day), but not Sidney.

He jumped when the knock finally came, feeling guilty that he’d been thinking of someone else when his consort asked for his attention. He leapt to the door and flung it wide, grinning. He couldn’t see it but he could almost  _ sense _ his consort’s answering grin beneath his drapings. Zhenya couldn’t help himself; he rushed into their bedchamber and swept his husband into his arms, embracing him fully for what was actually the first time. They’d held each other in bed, but had never hugged like this. It wasn’t forbidden, but it was generally considered bad form to touch an embargoed consort anywhere he or she was veiled, which sort of ruled out all but the most perfunctory hugs, which this was not.

He didn’t care, and judging by the enthusiasm with which his consort hugged him back, he didn’t care, either. He felt broad and strong in Zhenya’s arms, his hands digging into Zhenya’s dressing gown and his face tucking into the side of his neck.

Zhenya pulled back and knelt at his consort’s feet, the man’s hands lingering on his shoulders. He slid his hands to the curve of the consort’s waist, those ridges of muscle over his hips forming a V framing his abdomen. Zhenya leaned in and kissed the smooth skin of his flat belly, feeling a hand card through his hair as he did so. He looked up at him, palming the softness at his waist, and the hand in his hair slid down to cup his cheek, the consort’s thumb stroking across his cheekbone. He pulled Zhenya to his feet and held up a “just a moment” finger, then went over to a table near the door into his bedroom. When he returned he was holding a piece of black cloth -- Zhenya realized that it was a blindfold, a large one molded to fit over the upper part of the face. He looked up, confused.

His consort held up the blindfold, pointed to it and then to Zhenya, and then mimed removing his veils. Zhenya’s heart stuttered -- was he suggesting...? He was. Zhenya nodded eagerly, and between the two of them they stripped him quickly of his dressing gown and pajamas. The consort sat him down in a chair then hesitated a moment, holding the blindfold. Zhenya squeezed his hand in encouragement. His husband gave a nod, then carefully placed the blindfold over Zhenya’s eyes and tied it behind his head. Its shape, sweeping down over his cheeks and halfway up his forehead, meant that not even a sliver of vision was left to him. He felt a hand stroke down his face and then sensed him step away.

He heard a quiet rustling of fabric and anticipation clenched in his belly. Here in this room, mere feet from him, his husband was unveiled and exposed, naked before him. He felt the warmth of his body as he stepped close again and then...oh, and then.

The consort joined him in the chair, straddling his lap. No drapings separated them now. Zhenya’s hands twitched nervously; he could scarcely believe he was allowed to touch him freely. His husband had to pick up his hands and place them on his smooth, bare chest. Zhenya shuddered and his hands trembled against his consort’s warm skin. The consort slid his own arms around Zhenya’s neck and leaned in; there it was again, the smell of him, clean and strong, earth after a thunderstorm. His breath ghosted over Zhenya’s face, bearing a hint of the spiced hot tea that he liked to drink.

The consort cupped Zhenya’s face and leaned even closer. Zhenya craved him; he was desperate to close the gap but he didn’t dare -- he could barely bring himself to touch him. Then, barely louder than a puff of air, his mate whispered “Husband” and pressed his mouth to Zhenya’s.

The touch sent a shock through Zhenya’s whole body. No kiss in his long history of kissing men had ever felt like this, had ever felt so consuming, so earth-shattering. He fell into his husband’s mouth, Zhenya’s arms winding around his back and holding him close. The consort’s lips were full and plush; he was solid and strong in Zhenya’s arms. His mouth opened beneath Zhenya’s and they tilted into each other, breath coming faster and hearts thudding against each other’s chests. 

Zhenya slid one arm underneath his hips and stood up, bearing the consort with him. He felt a slight gasp escape the man at being hoisted up like this. He wrapped his legs around Zhenya’s narrow hips and kissed him harder as Zhenya carried him to the bed and laid them both down. For an indeterminate time they writhed together, hardly able to contain their mutual excitement at this newfound freedom to touch.

But that freedom did have its limits, Zhenya realized after a few moments. Several times he lifted his hands to his partner’s face and had them gently redirected. Clearly his consort didn’t want him forming a visual picture of his face through touch. Zhenya could have told him that his fingers weren’t so skilled that he could see with them as a blind man would, but his consort wasn’t taking the chance. Zhenya could kiss his face -- and kiss it he did, all over and then again -- but touching it was off the table.

He kissed down the man’s throat, feeling his pulse throbbing beneath his lips, and then down his chest. His nipples were flat and soft; Zhenya’s tongue flicked over them, wondering when they would begin to distend in preparation for their child’s arrival. His consort’s hands were all over him, in his hair, on his face, clutching at his shoulders, as if he couldn’t touch enough of him. Zhenya’s hands roamed his back and chest, sliding down to his ass; they were both hard but the novelty of this new contact was distracting enough that neither of them were paying much attention to their cocks.

Even without touching his face, Zhenya gleaned a little new information about his husband. He had short hair, which wasn’t exactly a surprise. His features felt strong, his jaw sharp and well-defined. None of this told Zhenya much at all, but he hoarded any morsel of intelligence about his consort that he could find.

It didn't help that his mind insisted on conjuring up Sidney’s face, much as he commanded it to discard the image as irrelevant. The two men seemed to be merging in his subconscious to the point that if he imagined what Sidney’s cock looked like, he saw it as like his husband’s, and when he imagined his husband’s face, there was Sidney. 

They rolled on the bed, kissing wildly and grabbing at each other, for what felt like a very long time before Zhenya’s arousal began demanding that he move things along. All at once, he knew what he wanted. He pulled his consort on top of him and parted his legs so his partner’s hips slotted between them. The consort pulled back a bit, moving his hips forward carefully, his body asking if this was what Zhenya wanted. Zhenya nodded and wrapped his hands around the back of the consort’s neck, pulling him back down into a kiss.

His husband slipped a hand between them and positioned his cock, then thrust forward into Zhenya with a shuddering sigh. Zhenya couldn’t help it, he cried out a little before biting it back and grabbing the consort’s ass, hoping he’d get the message that he wanted it, and hard.

He got the message. The consort dropped his head into the hollow of Zhenya’s shoulder and fucked him just as he wanted. The day’s news freed them to reverse their habitual roles without concern that Zhenya could become pregnant as well; pregnancy left the consort temporarily sterile. Zhenya couldn’t seem to hold him tight enough, his hands roamed restlessly over every part of him he could reach. His husband had a fantastic cock, and he’d taken great pleasure in it before now, but nothing could have prepared him for what it would feel like inside him.

Nor for the sheer athleticism of his consort. Zhenya was taller but his partner was broader and stronger; he felt wholly surrounded and dominated by him, and to his surprise it was touching a place of arousal he’d never reached before. Being pressed down into the bed by the solid, heavy body of his mate woke a deep desire he hadn’t known he had. His whole body shook and his orgasm snuck up on him, breaking and crashing over him, his cock jerking and spilling between their bodies. The consort kissed the gasps out of his mouth, slipping his hands underneath him to seize his shoulders as he thrust in harder; his body shuddered, he held deep and came into Zhenya.

They sagged into a sweaty, sated heap together, pulling in fast breaths and stroking each other’s skin. Within a few minutes the cooling perspiration felt uncomfortable, and both their bellies were splattered with Zhenya’s come. He felt his husband sit up and get off the bed, then he grasped Zhenya’s hand and pulled him up, too. He led him to the door -- not the door to his own chamber, but to Zhenya’s. Still unable to see, Zhenya let his consort lead him into his own bathroom and then into his large walk-in shower.

Still a bit muzzy-headed from the frankly life-changing sex he’d just had, Zhenya let himself be taken charge of. He stood in the shower while his consort started the water and began washing them both, clearing the sweat and fluids from their bodies, stopping frequently to kiss him. It was an odd sensation to be bathed while blind, but Zhenya was finding it pleasurable. There was something about being cared for like this. Usually it was him looking after his consort, who was embargoed and seen as a precious treasure to be protected and coddled, but having the roles reversed was pleasingly subversive.

They dried each other off and then Zhenya was led to his own bed and sat down on the edge; the consort pressed one finger to his lips in a “wait” gesture, then Zhenya heard him walk away. He returned in a few moments, untied and removed the blindfold. Zhenya blinked as his eyes readjusted; his consort’s drapings were back in place.

The consort leaned closer, stroked his hand down Zhenya’s face again, and turned to leave. Zhenya caught his hand and held him back; he jerked his chin back over his shoulder at the bed and tugged at his hand.

_ Stay. Stay here with me. _

The consort’s head cocked, questioning. Zhenya nodded. He wasn’t sure his husband would agree. If he stayed, he’d have to sleep in his veils. The consort hesitated, went to the door that led back into the royal bedchamber and his own bedroom...and shut it, staying in Zhenya’s room.

Zhenya grinned and got up, holding out his hand. His husband joined him and they peeled back the sheets and blankets, climbing in together, the consort careful to keep his veils secure around him. It took them a few tries to maneuver into a comfortable sleeping position but they finally spooned up together, Zhenya behind with his husband curled against his chest. He slid his hand over the consort’s hip to rest low on his belly; after a moment, his consort covered Zhenya’s hand with his own.


	7. Chapter 7

Zhenya was in the stable, brushing Admiral and brooding, when Sidney came bounding in. “Hey!” Sidney said, beaming a wide smile at him.

“Well, where the hell have you been? I haven’t seen you for...four days!” he said, mentally counting back to the day before the pregnancy announcement, when he’d last seen Sidney.

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ve been busy. Maybe you’ve heard that His Highness is pregnant.”

“I might have heard a rumor going around about that, yeah.” He left Admiral’s stall and went into Lady Esther’s, where Sidney was giving her apple slices. “Is he all right? I haven’t actually seen him myself in a few days.”

Hence his brooding mood today. He’d woken up alone the morning after their blindfolded encounter, his consort having risen early and left him. He hadn’t thought much of it (his husband was a notoriously early riser, which he definitely was not), but after not seeing him all day he didn’t get a knock on his door. The next day had been the same, and now this was the third day. He was starting to worry that the intensity of that celebratory sex had spooked his husband. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been spooked a little himself. He couldn’t help but think that they’d crossed a line past what was appropriate for embargoed spouses, even if they’d kept to the letter of the law.

“There’s been a lot going on. He has to get fitted for all these special custom unveiling clothes, and then for the ball, and then his royal stuff, jewels and crowns and things he’ll have to wear after the unveiling. Plus the doctor is all up in his business constantly, and...well, he’s been feeling a little...not great.”

Zhenya straightened up. “He’s unwell?”

Sidney shrugged. “Nothing serious. Tired, upset stomach. That’s pretty normal for a pregnant person, you know.”

“So I’ve heard.” He rubbed his chin. “Maybe I should send him a message. I don’t want him to think I’m just skipping blithely through the day without a thought to his welfare.”

“He doesn’t think that, I’m sure. Anyway he seemed much better this morning.”

“Just in time. He has his first official event tonight.”

“Yep. No offense, but I’m glad I don’t have to go.”

“Oh, you’re not guarding him?”

“No, there’ll just be two guards. Probably Letang and Patty.” He picked up Lady Esther’s saddle. “Are we riding?”

Zhenya started to say “yes,” but the word stuck in his throat. “I can’t.”

“Oh,” Sidney said, looking a little disappointed. “Other plans?”

“I’m...I just…” He sighed, then plunged ahead. “I should be dedicating my attention to my spouse, even if my time with him is limited. He’s carrying my child. I shouldn’t be...gallivanting around with another man.”

Sidney blinked at him. “Is that what we’ve been doing? Gallivanting?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I thought we were friends.” Now he just looked sad.

“Are we?” Zhenya said, quietly. They locked eyes, and he saw that Sidney knew exactly what he meant. “My first loyalty must be to him. And I’d have thought that yours would be, too.”

Sidney’s face did something he couldn’t quite parse. He turned his back and put Lady Esther’s saddle back on its peg. “As you wish, Your Royal Highness,” he said, subdued. 

He walked past Zhenya towards the door, but as he drew even with him, Zhenya’s hand shot out and caught his sleeve. He’d barely been aware that he was going to do that. “It’s my fault,” he said, quietly. “Don’t think it’s because I don’t…” He couldn’t finish.

Sidney looked up at him, resignation in his eyes. “You don’t have any idea what’s going on here, Zhenya.” He pulled away and strode off across the lawn.

Zhenya frowned. He had no idea what that was supposed to mean.

* * *

Even though he would not be officially introduced to the kingdom until his unveiling, now that the consort had conceived, he could be included in certain private state functions in a very limited capacity. One such occasion was this evening, a dinner honoring their chief jurist, who was retiring after a long and distinguished career. The King would be presenting him with a medal of meritorious service, and colleagues and friends would give speeches praising his achievements and character. The consort could not attend the bulk of the event; if he did, the embargo would prohibit Zhenya from speaking for the entire evening. After the dinner and speeches, he would join Zhenya briefly and be introduced to the gathered nobles and officials by the King, spend a few minutes being bowed to and congratulated, and then be escorted out. It was a bit of a dog-and-pony show, but it was part of the long process of welcoming a new consort into the royal family. His pregnancy would not be publicly announced, but the mere fact that he was being introduced to society and an unveiling was being planned would be enough to clue everyone in that the Crown Prince’s consort was expecting.

Zhenya was restless during dinner and speeches, anticipating his consort’s arrival. He was feeling both eager to see him and anxious for everything to go well. All the Very Distinguished speakers seemed to drone on endlessly as the guests ate the delicate desserts and sipped rich, sweet wine. The jurist himself, bless his heart, gave a refreshingly brief acceptance speech, then knelt before the King to receive his medal. Zhenya stood at his father’s side and made a concerted effort to actually keep his mind on the task at hand; this man’s service deserved his full attention. The fact that the guests were meeting the consort tonight would not have been revealed to them, but the savvier ones might have guessed once they were ushered into a drawing room for cocktails after dinner, instead of being bid good-night.

Zhenya prowled around, distracted and impatient, until finally the door cracked open and Sasha beckoned him out. He excused himself and left the drawing room; Fleury was waiting for him in the hall. “His Highness is on his way. He apologizes for keeping you waiting.” Fleury glanced around, then leaned in and spoke quietly. “He’s been throwing up since this afternoon. If this appearance could be kept as brief as possible, we’d all be grateful.”

“Of course,” Zhenya said. “If we need to postpone it altogether…”

“No, no. He’s ready, he wants to do this. Just don’t keep him any longer than you need to.”

“Absolutely.” He turned to Sasha. “Tell my father that we’ll be keeping the greetings to fifteen minutes, maximum.”

“You want me to tell the King that?” Sasha said, his eyebrows shooting up.

“Yes. If he has a problem with that, tell him I’ll be glad to cancel the entire thing and allow my husband to rest while he’s gestating the future King or Queen of this country.”

Sasha gave him a sort of  _ it’s your funeral _ look and went back into the drawing room.

Fleury had a finger in his ear, listening on his communicator. “They’re here.”

They both turned just in time to see the consort and two guards -- Letang and the burly blond one called Patty -- round the corner. Zhenya’s breath caught in his throat; even extensively veiled as he was, his consort looked stunning. The veils were gold and black, loose around his face and shoulders and then elaborately draped and fitted around his torso and hips so they suggested formalwear. They flowed loose down his upper arms and back, floating dramatically behind him. He wore a tailored suit underneath the veils.

Zhenya made no effort to mask his admiration as they approached. The consort nodded to him; Zhenya put a hand over his heart and bowed quickly. He extended his arm; the consort placed one gloved hand gently in the crook of his elbow. Zhenya observed that he was moving carefully; he must still be feeling queasy. Fleury went to the door and gave a quick knock to indicate that they were ready.

They moved to the doorway; from inside, Zhenya heard the sergeant-at-arms speak in his booming voice to get everyone’s attention. “My lords and ladies, friends and distinguished guests. His Majesty the King and Her Majesty the Queen present His Royal Highness, Prince Evgeni, accompanying his husband, the Prince Consort.” Zhenya heard an excited murmur rise inside the room. The footmen threw open the double doors and Zhenya stepped inside, pride swelling in his chest as he walked forward with his consort on his arm.

They greeted Zhenya’s parents first, the consort bowing to them, and then the King joined them as they began to move through the crowd. To Zhenya’s relief, he was carefully selecting who would get the honor of a formal introduction to keep his poor husband from having to endure hours of meeting everyone in attendance. The sergeant-at-arms murmured each person’s name as they were presented. Most bowed to the consort, some kissed his gloved hand. The consort kept his other hand tight on Zhenya’s elbow; he was definitely holding himself rigidly upright.

“He seems tense,” his father whispered to Zhenya as they crossed the room to meet the guest of honor.

“He’s trying not to vomit, Father. Give him a break.” Zhenya whispered quietly near his father’s ear, conscious of the embargo against his mate hearing him.

“Poor fellow. Having a hard time of it, is he?”

“I understand it comes and goes. But he’s had a bad afternoon.” As if on cue, the consort swayed a little, free hand going to his stomach while the other clamped down on Zhenya’s arm. Zhenya decided they’d had enough. He shot his father a look, slipped his arm around the consort’s waist and steered him to the door.

“Please excuse my son,” the King said. “His consort has been -- unwell.” Absolutely everyone in attendance understood what was meant by that. Zhenya heard sympathetic whispers; a few comments of “be well” and “take care of yourself” followed them out.

Fleury was waiting right outside, holding a trash can just in case. As soon as the door shut behind them, the consort sagged against Zhenya’s chest with a sigh of relief. Zhenya wrapped his arms around him, stroking his back. Fleury held out the trash can; the consort shook his head, took a deep breath and straightened up. He nodded quickly in a clear “I’m ok” gesture. Zhenya lifted his eyebrow.  _ Are you sure?  _ The consort pulled off his black leather gloves and squeezed one of Zhenya’s hands, then lifted his hand to stroke Zhenya’s cheek. Zhenya plucked his husband’s hand off his face and pressed a kiss to his palm. The consort seemed to sway toward him a little, lingering, then withdrew his hand and turned to his guards. They took their places at his side and headed back down the corridor. Fleury started to follow but Zhenya held him back. “Is he all right? Please tell me the truth.”

“He will be. Surely you know this is common.”

“I didn’t think it started this early, he’s not even a month along.”

“It often starts earlier for men. Something about body fat percentage, I’ve heard.”

“Please tell him that if he needs help or comfort at night, he always has my permission to enter my room. He needn’t knock.”

Fleury nodded, smiling a little. “I’ll tell him. Thank you, sir.” He hurried to catch up with his charge, leaving Zhenya standing alone in the hallway, feeling useless.

The door eased open behind him; he turned to see Judge Amarov emerge. “Your Honor, you should stay at your party, all is well,” Zhenya said.

Amarov flapped a hand and made a “pshaw” noise. “Bunch of suck-ups. I’ve been tongue-bathed enough for one night. How are you, Zhenyenka?”

He nodded. “All right. Anxious.”

“It’s hard the first time. My wife carried our first and had a terrible time. I carried our second and it was a breeze, for which she’s never forgiven me. But, I do still have the recipe for the ginger toddy I used to make for her, which I’d be happy to share.”

Zhenya smiled. “I just wish I could tell him how much I...well.”

“The embargo is a hardship. I confess I don’t understand why we put our leaders through it. I can’t imagine how you all do it.”

“We’re brought up with it. It seems normal to me. I just didn’t expect...certain things.”

“Nothing is ever what we expect. I know the rules you must obey, but between you and me, Zhenya? If you break them when you are alone with him, nobody will ever know.”

“I would be prepared for that, but I don’t wish to disrespect him. He values the embargo rules, and so must I.”

“Then the fact that you honor his commitment tells him everything that you wish you could say.”

* * *

That night, Zhenya was lying in bed reading, not expecting company. Even if his nausea had abated, his consort was likely to be tired and not in the mood for sex.

So he was surprised when the door to the Royal Bedchamber opened, tentatively. He sat up, putting his book aside. The consort poked his veiled head around the door, looking unsure of himself. Zhenya beckoned him into his bedroom; he seemed relieved and entered, shutting the door behind him. He was fully veiled but also dressed in sleeping clothes, loose pants and a t-shirt. He just stood there for a moment, fidgeting from foot to foot and crossing his arms over his stomach.

Zhenya scooted over a little and flipped the bedclothes back, holding out a hand to invite his husband to join him. The consort’s posture relaxed and he walked over to the bed, slipping between the sheets. They just looked at each other for a moment; Zhenya thought about what he might want, what he might need, if he were the one in this precarious physical state. He slid down in the bed and held out one arm. He heard his consort exhale and he stretched out close to him at once, snuggling against his chest and tucking his face into Zhenya’s neck. Zhenya wrapped his arms around his consort, sighing at how well they fit together, how natural it felt just to hold him. He gently stroked his hand up and down the consort’s back over his drapings, and within just a few moments, he felt the man’s breathing deepen and knew that he was asleep.

This became their routine. Zhenya grew accustomed to seeing the door open and his consort joining him in bed. Soon, Zhenya began to think of the bedroom as as theirs rather than his -- over the days that followed, his consort was often to be found there, reading or bathing or simply relaxing. Then, they’d climb into bed together and curl into each other’s arms. Zhenya didn’t initiate sex and neither did his consort, who often seemed tired.

The second morning of this new normal, Zhenya woke up to the sound of his consort retching piteously in the bathroom. He almost got up to help him, but thought better of it -- he’d have had to lift his veils to vomit, and he’d be furious if Zhenya barged in. All he could do was sit and listen as he flushed the toilet, rinsed his mouth and came back into the bedroom. He responded to Zhenya’s  _ are you all right _ eyebrow-raise with a waggle of his hand.  _ All right. _ He returned to bed and came straight into Zhenya’s arms again. Zhenya slid his hand down to rest on his belly, their child growing ever stronger beneath his hand; the consort covered the hand with his own and sighed into Zhenya’s neck.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7 was posted earlier today, be sure you're caught up before proceeding.

“How is your better half today?” Sasha asked, bringing Zhenya’s morning tea to his office. “Everyone’s been fretting about it.”

“He seemed much perkier this morning, actually. The doctor says it’s unpredictable, and that it comes and goes, but for a week now since the Judge’s dinner, it’s been more come and less go. I’m hopeful he will improve.”

Sasha nodded. “You sure have been talking a lot of  _ walks _ ,” he said, setting the tea and toast on Zhenya’s desk.

“So?”

“Walks down by the athletic fields.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Not a thing. If you weren’t looking for a certain guard out sparring with his comrades, there’d be even less wrong with that.”

“I’m not... _ looking _ for him.”

“No, you’re just frequently placing yourself in areas where you think he might be found.”

“That isn’t the same thing.”

“So if I were to tell you that just now I saw him and the other guards heading down there with their sparring gear, you’d say thank you, Sasha, that’s so interesting, and go back to reading the paper, right?”

Zhenya sat up straight, unable to keep himself from reacting. “Uh...yes. Of course.” He sat back, picking up the paper again.

Sasha laughed. “You asshole. Go. Better hurry.”

Zhenya hurried to his quarters and threw on exercise clothes, telling himself he was just going for a run, and made a beeline for the athletic fields. The Consort’s guards were there, but he was almost too late -- they were gathering up their gear. Sidney was among them, sweaty from his exertion and looking like a god. “Good morning, Your Royal Highness,” Fleury said, bowing.

“Good morning, Fleury. I’d hoped to get in some sparring practice myself, but I see I’m too late.”

Every one of the guards’ heads swiveled to look at Sidney. Nobody was fooled. Sidney’s eyebrow arched. “I could stay behind; I’m not on duty until this afternoon.”

“Well, there you go,” Fleury said, a bemused look on his face. “Come on, boys, Sid’s teaching private lessons.” They all trooped back up the hill, leaving them alone on the pitch.

Zhenya just stood there, feeling tongue-tied. Now that it was just him and Sidney, he didn’t know what to say, especially after their last conversation had ended so awkwardly. “I haven’t seen you around recently,” he said.

“It’s a big palace. His Highness has been sick, we’ve all been running errands for him. I spent a whole day scouring the city for this one brand of ginger ale he wanted.”

“He seemed much improved this morning.”

“Yeah, I think so, too. He said he was feeling pretty...spry.”

“I’m glad. Thank you for your efforts.”

Sidney shrugged. “I do what I can to help.” He tossed Zhenya a quarterstaff. “Let’s go, then. You wanted to spar.”

Zhenya took the staff, his least proficient skill. Sidney came at him, and he countered; for a few moments the only sound was their staffs striking each other. “I thought you might have been avoiding me,” Zhenya finally said, stepping back to catch his breath.

“Why would I do that?” Sidney said.

“After...what I said in the stable, the last time.”

“What kind of man would I be if I punished my friend for acting honorably?”

“So we are friends, then.”

Sidney stepped toward him, lifting his staff. “You were the one who said we might not be.”

Zhenya sighed. “I just -- I need to keep it straight in my head.”

“What’s to keep straight? You’re allowed to have friends.”

“I know. But you…” Zhenya stepped back and out of the spar. “Surely you know that I value you as a friend.”

“But you want more.”

“I can’t have more.”

Sidney planted his staff and leaned on it, sweat glistening at his temples and a flush of exertion staining his cheeks and making his full lips even redder than usual. “Zhenya, you’re the crown Prince. I’m a guard, and a temporary one at that. Whatever association you and I have is entirely up to you. You have your husband, who you are bound to by honor and the law. And then there’s me.” He grabbed his staff and came at him again.

“You know what it is that brings me to you,” Zhenya growled, low, striking faster and faster. Sidney’s breath sped up as he countered, their feet dancing on the grass.

Sidney shook his head. “Same thing that’s brought people sniffing around my door since I was sixteen years old,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact.

Zhenya stepped back. “You think that’s it? Your pretty face and your body?”

Sidney crowded up close, swung his staff, feinted and struck Zhenya behind his knees, knocking him onto his back. He crouched over him, staff planted next to his ear. “Tell me you don’t want me,” he said, his voice low and electric. Zhenya felt the jolt all the way up his spine.

“If I wanted an easy encounter, I could go out and have one. You don’t have the only good ass in this city,” Zhenya bit out.

Sidney cocked his head and smirked. “I beg your pardon. It’s a  _ great _ ass.”

Zhenya burst to his feet, pushing Sidney back so he landed on the ass in question. “What are you trying to do here?” he said, looming over him. “I came out here to apologize.”

“And you have. I accept.”

“So what is this?”

For the first time, Sidney looked unsure of himself. “I...I don’t know. I'm as confused as you are, Zhenya. I never meant...things got out of hand. This was not the plan,” he said, this last bit said under his breath.

“Look,” Zhenya said, taking a step back. “Yes, I’m attracted to you, all right? But I also  _ like _ you, I’ve liked you from the first. And I know I’m not...it wouldn’t be…” He broke off and ran a hand through his sweaty hair. “I met my husband the day I married him. I’ve still never heard his voice or seen his face. I wouldn’t be the first embargoed prince to have…”

“A bit on the side?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Might as well have.”

“I didn’t expect any of this, either. My husband, he’s...not what I thought he’d be. Even through the embargo, I feel like I see him.”

The eyebrow again. “Oh you do, do you?”

“I don’t expect you to understand. I always hoped that maybe someday, I’d grow to be fond of him.”

“But ‘someday’ came faster than you expected, right? You’re already fond of him.”

“I feel obligated to him in a way I didn’t think I would.” He took a deep breath, then held out a hand to help Sidney to his feet, then pull him near. “You’re right,” he said, low. “I do want you. I want you so badly I can’t think straight from it sometimes.” Sidney was looking up at him with those wide, pretty eyes, his hard pulse visible in his throat. Zhenya  _ ached _ for him, the ache made sharper with the knowledge that he couldn’t have him. “But he doesn’t deserve that.”

Sidney made a half-choked noise deep in his throat, then nodded, cutting his eyes down to the ground. “No, he doesn’t.” He shook his head, a wry smile curling his lips. “Ironic, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“You saying no is making  _ me _ want  _ you _ more.” He squeezed Zhenya’s hand and let it go, took the staff from him and walked quickly away.

Zhenya stood there for a few moments and debated going after him, but in the end he just trudged back to the palace, an untidy mix of relief and disappointment coursing through his veins.

* * *

It was later than his usual bedtime when Zhenya retired after dinner with his parents and his brother, who was visiting from the mountainside holy retreat where he lived. He’d taken a new name, Victor, as his monastic name and Zhenya was still getting used to it. Victor hadn’t been present at the wedding but was thrilled to learn he was to be an uncle, throwing his arms around Zhenya and crying with joy. It was a warm and happy evening, and he was in a good mood as he entered the room he shared with his consort.

A mood that only improved when he discovered what awaited him there. The lights were dim, candles had been lit, and his consort had attractively arranged himself on their large bed, deliciously nude save for his veils. Zhenya stopped short just inside the door, soaking in this welcome. He shut the door and approached, smiling widely. He gestured to everything, including the consort himself, pressing his hands to his heart to indicate his deep approval of all of it.

The consort knelt up on the bed, touched his stomach and gave a thumbs-up, then flexed playfully, which Zhenya took to mean that he was feeling better and healthy. Zhenya reached out and touched his veiled cheek, then pointed to the bathroom. The consort nodded and resumed his reclining pose on the bed, a hand slung over his hip, making Zhenya want to be quick about it.

He stripped and took a fast shower, his cock fattening with the thought that he might be getting sex tonight for the first time in well over a week. That wasn’t a long time, but after the frequent couplings of their first few weeks together, it felt like an eternity.

When he returned to the bed, his consort’s hands were eager on his body, laying him out and stroking him. He shimmied down Zhenya’s chest and got his mouth on him fact, with a practiced shifting of his veils. Zhenya groaned -- they’d both grown a little lax with nonverbal sex noises, despite the embargo -- and rested his hand on the back of the consort’s head. No sooner was he fully hard than the consort pulled away. He straddled Zhenya’s hips on his knees and shuffled closer, his own hard cock jutting towards him; Zhenya put a hand on it, wondering what this man had in store for him tonight.

He didn’t have to wait long to find out. The consort picked up one of his hands and guided it around to his ass, pushing Zhenya’s fingers between his cheeks...Zhenya’s eyes widened as he realized that his husband had obviously prepared himself ahead of time. His asshole was slick with lube; Zhenya’s fingers slid in with little to no resistance. The consort reached under the pillow and pulled out the lube; he handed it to Zhenya, then turned and faced away from him. He got on all fours and spread his thighs, presenting his ass; Zhenya’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. The consort turned his head to look over his shoulder at him, as if to ask what Zhenya was waiting for.

He scrambled to his knees, uncapping the lube…but first, this ass deserved to be worshiped. He bent low and kissed the flesh, leaving quick bites all over the smooth skin, his hands kneading it. He bent and swiped his tongue up his husband’s center, drawing shudders and growls from him. Lubing his fingers, he slid three into him, twisting and crooking them to find just the right spot. The consort’s back arched and he writhed in pleasure, his hands fisting in the bedsheets and his chest heaving. He reached back and grabbed Zhenya’s hip, yanking him close. Zhenya grinned; evidently someone was impatient tonight.

Zhenya lubed his cock -- he wasn’t sure he’d ever been this hard in his life -- and seated it against his consort’s asshole. He gripped his hips and pushed forward; the consort’s head sagged down and he pressed back against him, taking more of Zhenya’s cock into his body. Zhenya’s cock was not small, and he knew to take this slowly, but his consort had other ideas. Before Zhenya could inch forward, he pushed back hard, and Zhenya slid all the way inside him. He gasped and clutched the consort’s hips, his groin pressed against the man’s ass. The consort was making a barely-there whine in the back of his throat, his pelvis shifting as he seated Zhenya’s cock deep inside him...and then he pulled off and thrust back, obviously ready. Zhenya made a few experimental thrusts; God, he felt amazing, hot and tight and so responsive, always wanting more. He grasped the consort’s veiled shoulder with one hand and his hip in the other and fucked him, as hard and fast as the consort was demanding with every movement of his body against Zhenya’s.

He shifted his angle a little until he found the right one to drive his consort mad. He knew it when he hit the spot; the consort’s whole body jerked and shuddered. Zhenya slid one hand beneath him to stroke his mate’s cock; he found it hard and leaking already. His hand was batted away and a quick thumbs-down popped up; evidently, his mate didn’t like to be jerked off while getting fucked. Zhenya wanted him to come, though, and wondered if they could manage that without either of them touching the consort’s cock. 

He needn’t have worried about it. After a few minutes his husband’s body went taut, and he came without his cock being touched at all. Zhenya didn’t know whether to be amazed at his consort, or at himself, but he didn’t have much time to debate because after a few more strokes he was coming, too. He allowed himself a cry of ecstasy as he spilled into his consort’s body. Zhenya sagged against the consort’s back, breathing hard, his cock softening inside him. The consort reached back to cup the back of Zhenya’s neck; Zhenya dared to shift the veils just enough to bare a little bit of his shoulder and kiss it reverently, his mind clear of anything -- of anyone -- but this.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Some miscarriage-adjacent content in this chapter. Check the end notes for specifics.

Six weeks had passed since their wedding, and Zhenya was beginning to feel settled. He hadn’t expected to be comfortably sharing a bedroom with his embargoed spouse; such an arrangement was not forbidden, as long as the embargo was respected, but was extremely unusual as it only made the embargo more difficult. He wouldn’t have held it against his consort if he’d wanted to keep to his own bedroom -- where he didn’t have to sleep in veils -- but as far as Zhenya could tell, his husband seemed content, even happy, to share his bed. What was now beginning to feel odd was that after rising in the morning, his consort bid him good day and left fairly early, and he often didn’t see him again until returning to his quarters for bed. Being so close to him overnight while maintaining such rigid distance in daylight was annoying. He understood why -- keeping embargo while in one another’s company during normal daytime activities would be impossible and would severely limit both of their abilities to get anything done if they couldn’t speak aloud. 

Still, after lunch with his mother on a bright, sunny Tuesday, Zhenya found himself wanting to see his husband. Surely a brief walk on the grounds would be acceptable. They could do that in silence, after all. This resolution formed, he crossed the palace to the consort’s private offices. Letang and Crosby were stationed outside the door; they looked mildly surprised to see him but snapped to attention. “Um...I was wondering if his Highness would be agreeable to a walk on the grounds with me?”

Letang blinked. “Please come in, sir. I’ll ask him for you,” he said, after a brief hesitation. He opened the door. “His Royal Highness for you, sir,” he announced. He seemed to receive a signal from inside, then he stepped out of the way and held the door for Zhenya to enter.

His consort was sitting behind his desk, veiled in navy blue today. Sidney was standing at his side, holding a tablet -- probably the dispatches from Seryozha -- his eyes wide as he looked at Zhenya. Zhenya tried to ignore him and focus on his husband.

Letang cleared his throat. “His Royal Highness requests the consort’s company on a walk on the grounds,” he said. There was an undercurrent to his voice that Zhenya didn’t really understand, like they were all communicating in a way he couldn’t hear.

The consort looked up at Sidney, who shrugged. The consort made a gesture to his papers, then lifted a finger in Sidney’s direction. “His Highness would like to finish his work first,” Sidney said. “Would a delay of one hour be acceptable?”

Zhenya almost answered aloud, as he was accustomed to doing when speaking to Sidney. He caught himself in time and nodded. This felt -- odd. Awkward, in a way that he hadn’t been with his consort in weeks.

“He will come to your office in one hour,” Sidney said. The consort bowed his head slightly; Zhenya returned the bow and left.

In one hour, on the dot, Sasha opened Zhenya’s office door and the consort entered. Zhenya smiled and put his work aside. He offered him tea, but the consort declined, just stepped to his side and put his gloved hand on Zhenya’s elbow. He relaxed -- this felt normal now; the warmth of the consort’s body heat felt familiar.

They walked to the gardens, the easiest place for a casual afternoon stroll. Once they left the palace, the consort let go of Zhenya’s elbow and took his hand, interlacing their fingers; Zhenya noticed that he had removed his gloves.

It was a beautiful afternoon, and late enough in the season that the gardens -- his mother’s pride and joy -- were in full bloom. As they approached, the consort held up a finger and released Zhenya’s hand to reach under his veils and into his breast pocket...to pull out a small book. He held it up, and Zhenya could all but see the cheeky grin he must have been wearing, because it was Zhenya’s mother’s book. The Queen had written a small directory of the flowers and trees in the gardens, meant as a guide for visitors, and the consort had obtained a copy. Zhenya almost laughed, and moved to put his arm around his husband’s back, but he drew away with an ‘oh no you don’t’ finger. With a flourish, he pulled a pen out of his other coat pocket, firmly clicked it open, and turned to the page in the garden book that bore a checklist of the major flowers and plantings, brandishing his pen at it and somehow managing to communicate both enthusiasm and ironic bemusement.

Zhenya followed him as he made his way through the gardens, bending to read the small printed signs identifying the flowers and checking them off his list, pointing in excitement as he spied one he was missing, and tapping his pen against his veiled lips. Zhenya had expected him to check a few off and then abandon the task, but instead he watched as the consort methodically worked his way down the list, darting between the flowerbeds and, at one point, jumping up and down when he found one that was listed in the guide as “hard to spot.” Zhenya chuckled, utterly charmed, as he was by nearly everything his husband did.

Zhenya joined him before a trellis wall of climbing roses, his mother’s prizewinning blooms. The consort was looking at a particularly lush section of deep coral roses, shot through with lavender streaks. He glanced up at Zhenya, pointed to the roses and then put a hand on his chest... _ I love these. _ Zhenya nodded, making the same gesture. He did, too. The consort showed Zhenya his completed checklist then, nodding as if acknowledging a job well done. He held up his pen and dramatically clicked it shut, replacing it, along with the book, in his coat pockets. Zhenya smiled down at him and slid his arm around the consort’s waist. He felt his husband’s arm go around him in return, and was glad he’d had this idea. They turned around and walked back to the palace, keeping each other close.

That night Zhenya was rather late coming to his bedroom, as he’d been attending a musical performance with his brother. He couldn’t wait to get out of his cumbersome royal formalwear and maybe get to sleep with his husband, but when he entered the room the lights were low and the consort seemed to be asleep, curled on his side in bed. Zhenya smiled down at his veiled face, drew the covers up over his shoulder a bit, then went to the bathroom to undress and wash.

He tried to be silent and not disturb his sleeping partner when he got into bed, but he was barely settled before the consort turned over and tucked close to him. He kissed the man’s veiled forehead and felt him waking up. The consort’s hand slipped over his chest, then down his stomach to grasp his cock. With his other hand the consort tapped at Zhenya’s temple; this was the signal he’d come to use when he wanted Zhenya to close his eyes. He did so now, felt the fabric move as the consort lifted his veils, and then his soft lips against Zhenya’s.

They kissed gently, thoroughly, while his consort stroked him. Zhenya’s hand slipped down and cupped the consort’s ass while Zhenya’s hips made shallow thrusts into his hand, his mouth opening to his husband’s tongue. Zhenya sighed when he came over the consort’s hand, their kisses turning quiet and drowsy. He heard the consort pull a tissue out of the box on the nighttable, presumably to wipe off his hand, placing a kiss on Zhenya’s chest as he did so. Zhenya felt the brush of fabric again as his husband replaced his veils, then he tapped Zhenya’s forehead. Zhenya opened his eyes; his hand strayed down his husband’s taut stomach to his cock but he got the thumbs-down and a gentle pat on the hand, so he knew it was nothing personal, his consort just wasn’t in the mood.

Zhenya pulled him close and reveled in his warmth, the softness of his skin where he could feel it, and the quiet intimacy of their bed.

When he woke, he was alone, but he could hear movement in the bathroom so he knew his consort hadn’t yet left him for the day. He turned over and stretched, hugging a pillow and hoping for a few more minutes of sleep. It was not to be.

He heard hurrying footsteps, but before he even got his eyes open, the consort was shaking his shoulder, hard. He sat up, snapping fully awake; his husband was standing over him, his chest heaving in fast, scared breaths. He held out a hand -- there was blood on his fingers. He put his other hand low on his belly and then suddenly he hunched over, making a low grunt of pain.

Panic slammed into Zhenya’s half-asleep mind. He got up and pulled his husband close; the consort was shaking and staring at his bloody fingers. Zhenya picked up his phone and fired off a text to a pre-set group of emergency contacts including the doctor, Fleury, and Sasha. He sat back down, drawing the consort over his lap and tucking him close, pressing his head to Zhenya’s shoulder. The consort clutched at him, fear radiating off him in palpable waves. Zhenya went cold when he saw that there were a few streaks of blood on the consort’s bare inner thighs, as well. 

Dr. Rjskov, Fleury, and Letang were at the door faster than Zhenya would have believed possible. The guards were pushing a gurney. Dr. Rjskov took only seconds to assess the situation; once he saw the blood on the consort’s fingers and also on his legss, he sprang into action. “Come, your Highness, get up here,” he said, patting the gurney.

Zhenya grabbed the consort’s dressing gown and wrapped it around him so he wouldn’t be rolling down the corridor naked but for his veils. He helped him climb onto the stretcher, the consort hanging on to Zhenya’s hand for dear life.

Dr. Rjskov put a hand on Zhenya’s arm. “Sir, you need to stay here. I need to be able to talk to him. I can’t do that if you’re there.”

Zhenya gaped at him. “Fuck the embargo!” he exclaimed. Both the doctor and his consort visibly flinched upon hearing his forbidden voice. “I’m not leaving my husband!”

“Sir!” the doctor said, sharply. “This isn’t helping! He needs to come to the infirmary. I will keep you informed. Please, exercise some restraint.”

Fleury appeared at his side. “Zhenya, we’ll be with him. You trust us, don’t you?”

Zhenya looked down at him and saw the very real concern and love Fleury had for the consort. He nodded, silent, already feeling guilty at his outburst. His priority should be to do what was best for his husband, not what would make himself more comfortable.

They wheeled the consort out of the room; Zhenya saw another cramp hit him and his hands go to his belly just as they passed out of sight. Zhenya’s legs gave out, and he landed on the edge of the bed, bright-edged panic crowding out his thoughts.  _ No, no, no, please no. _

Sasha ran in, his eyes wide with concern. “Zhenya!” he said. He was at his side in a flash, one arm around his shoulders. “Come on, get dressed. I’m going to get you some tea.”

“I don’t want tea! I want my husband!”

“We’ll go to the infirmary and wait; you’ll be right there when the doctor has any news.”

He nodded, feeling slow and thick. “Yes. Okay, good. Yes.” He started for the door. 

Sasha steered him back. “Clothes first. Come on, let me get you dressed.”

Zhenya would later have almost no memory of it, but somehow Sasha got him into acceptable clothing. The next thing he knew, they were sitting in the chamber outside the infirmary. Letang was there, along with several of the other guards; all of them looked serious and worried. “The doctor said he’d come talk to you as soon as he could,” Letang said to him.

Zhenya got up, perhaps to retort, but no retort sprang to mind. He paced instead, feeling like a caged animal. He looked around at the guards and took note of a particular absence that made new, fresh anger flush through him. “Where is Sidney?” he said. He saw them exchange glances. “He should be here with the consort! What, is he too busy?”

Letang stepped closer. “Sidney isn’t available right now. He has duties to attend to.”

“Duties! More important than this? I thought he cared about him!”

“He does!”

Zhenya felt Sasha’s hand grab his arm and he reined himself in. He ran a hand through his hair and nodded to Letang. “Of course he does. I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I’m just...very worried, and I’m taking it out on Sidney.”

“It’s normal, sir. We’re all very worried.” Letang moved back to his guards; they whispered among themselves, but Zhenya could hardly muster the attention to wonder what they were saying. He flopped down in a chair next to Sasha.

“Sasha,” he muttered. “I can’t lose him.”

“You won’t. This happens early in pregnancy, you know this. It’s probably nothing.”

“But what if...what if…”

“If he loses the baby, God forbid, you can try again. I know it’s difficult, but it isn’t the end.”

He looked at his oldest friend, feeling the wetness pooling in his eyelids. “Is it horrible that I’m worried about him more than the child?”

“No. You don’t really know the child. It’s so early, and it’s barely a tiny pea. It’s understandable to think of your husband first.”

“He’ll be devastated. We both will be.”

“And you will be there for him.”

Zhenya nodded. “No matter what.” He took a deep breath. “I won’t have him replaced, Sasha. Even if we lose this child, even if there isn’t another. I’ll carry our child myself if it comes to that. I won’t have him sent away.”

Sasha patted his arm. “Let’s not borrow trouble from tomorrow. We’ve enough on our plates with today’s trouble.”

The door into the infirmary opened and Dr. Rjskov emerged. Zhenya popped to his feet, Sasha rising with him, one hand still on his arm. The doctor looked...relaxed. Not like he was about to share tragic news.

“Your Royal Highness,” he said, approaching him. “Your husband and child are fine.”

Zhenya let out a huge, relieved breath. He was peripherally aware of Letang and the guards doing the same. Sasha nodded and patted his shoulder. “He’s really all right?” Zhenya said.

“He had a little cramping and bleeding. It’s very common in the first trimester. It may happen again or it may not, but for now, your child is doing well and your husband is healthy.”

“Thank you, Doctor. Can I take him back to our room?”

“I’d like him to stay for a few hours. I’ll call you when you can come collect him.”

“Can I stay, too?”

The doctor sighed. “You may see him for a short time if you wish, but...the embargo…”

“Yes, yes, I know. Very well. I can see him now?”

“Yes, come with me.”

Zhenya followed the doctor into the infirmary and then into a private exam room. His consort was reclining on a bed, both hands resting on his belly, dressed in a hospital gown under his veils. He sat up when Zhenya entered and immediately held out his arms. Zhenya rushed to the bed and enfolded him, wrapping him up as tightly as he could. The consort was still shaking a little; his hands clutched big handfuls of Zhenya’s sweater. Zhenya pulled back, then glanced at the doctor, who stepped forward to address the consort.

“Your Highness, I’d like you to stay for a few hours, but the Prince will come for you when you’re released. He wanted to see you, but he can’t stay, as you know.”

The consort heaved a deep sigh -- Zhenya wondered if he were as tired of the embargo as Zhenya was -- and nodded. He grasped Zhenya’s hand and brought it to his belly, covering it with his own. Zhenya smiled and nodded, then kissed his veiled temple. He straightened up to see Dr. Rjskov eyeing him with one eyebrow slightly raised, but he didn’t care what he thought. He squeezed his consort’s hand one last time, then left.

Sasha trailed him back to his rooms. “You need to be careful.”

“Of what?”

“You and the consort have gone way past what the embargo allows.”

“Why, because I’ve become fond of him?”

“You’re in love with him.”

Zhenya stopped short, putting his hands on his hips. “No.”

“You’re not?”

“No. I can’t make that judgment without talking to someone, getting to know them. I know something of his character. I know how we make each other feel, physically. I enjoy the closeness we’ve developed. And I…” He hesitated. “I know he is someone I may be able to love.”

“The whole point of the embargo is so that if he has to leave, it’s not a trauma. You just said yourself that you already can’t tolerate the idea of losing him in a year.”

“That stays between us, understood?”

“You, me, and his guards who heard everything.”

“They won’t say anything. They keep his secrets well.” He resumed his course back to his rooms. He had to shower and dress in appropriate clothes for his day. “The embargo may restrict how we interact, but it has no jurisdiction in my head.”

“What about Sidney?”

Zhenya frowned. “What about him?”

“Is it him you’re in love with?”

“Why are you so determined that I be in love with someone?”

“Because I know you, Zhenya!” Sasha grabbed his arm and spun him around, stopping them again in the deserted corridor. “You don’t see how you’ve been these past weeks. You smile for no reason, you laugh to yourself, you bound around like you’re a kid again. You’re -- lighter.”

“I wasn’t aware I was such a grump before.”

“You weren’t. But you’re different now, and I’m not the only one who’s noticed. So if it isn’t your consort lightening your heart, then who is it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content: the consort experiences some scary symptoms including cramping and bleeding. He fears miscarriage and is taken to the doctor, but he is fine and all is well.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Minor character death, car accident.

Life became both calmer and more hectic as they drew ever closer to the unveiling day, now a mere month away. 

Since that horrible morning when they feared the consort was miscarrying, he hadn’t had any cramping or bleeding. That day, Zhenya had wheeled him back to their room in a chair, over his gestures of protest, and half-carried him to bed. The consort had been silently laughing at him by the time they reached it, making  _ I’m fine! _ gestures. He had, however, accepted being pampered for the rest of the day. Zhenya had even called in the masseuse to give him a full body rub-down and had the chefs prepare his favorite foods and bring them to their room so he could eat in bed, improvising a drape between them on the bed so the consort could unveil to eat. They’d lazed around together and watched TV before drowsing off in a loose embrace, a half-eaten bag of salt and vinegar chips, the consort’s favorite, still lying on the bedspread.

It had taken about a week before the consort had initiated sex again. Zhenya had slid gratefully into his body, hearing him sigh and breathe deeply in arousal -- just the fact that he wanted to was a relief. Knowing that his consort still desired him, even though he was already pregnant, filled Zhenya with warm, gentle passion that he tried to communicate, not with words but with his hands and lips, applied reverently to his consort’s body. The fear they’d both felt that morning, and how they’d turned so immediately to each other, had deepened their bond. Zhenya felt it, and he knew the consort did too.

And yet, even while he enjoyed this new closeness with his husband, Zhenya found his mind straying to Sidney. He hadn’t seen him at all, despite keeping a casual-but-not-casual eye out for him around the palace and grounds. Guilt was his constant companion; guilt that he should be thinking of another man when he and his husband were growing so much closer. Guilt that he couldn’t stop wanting him, despite having more than he could ever have reasonably asked for in his consort. And, ironically, guilt over what he knew he had to do when next he saw Sidney, guilt that he would actually choose his consort. He couldn’t win for losing. He felt guilty no matter which of the two men in his life his heart was favoring. 

A few days after That Morning, Zhenya came upon Sidney sitting on a bench in the gardens, reading a book, coincidentally near the coral-and-lavender roses that both he and the consort had admired. Sometimes he wondered when Sidney did his actual guarding; he so rarely saw him on duty. He looked up and smiled as Zhenya approached. “Hey,” he said casually, as if everything was normal. Zhenya just loomed over him until he looked up again. “What’s wrong?”

Guilt and dread were too raw for him to say what he needed to, so all that came out was stale anger, left over from the miscarriage scare. “Too busy to be with your close, personal friend when he thought he was losing our baby?”

Sidney sighed, like he’d been expecting this. “I was sent into town to pick up some uniforms that got shipped over from New Scotland. I didn’t even know what happened until I got back. He was already back in your room by then.”

Zhenya deflated a little. That was, he had to admit, a legitimate excuse. “Oh.”

“Yeah. I’m so glad he and the baby are okay.” He squinted up at him. “Why were you even thinking about where I was while your husband was supposedly miscarrying?”

Zhenya could hear Sasha yelling  _ Yeah, good question!  _ in his head. “I was distracted and upset. I suppose I was...displacing, would you call it?”

Sidney scooted over on the bench. “Stop standing over me like you’re going to send me to bed without supper.”

Zhenya thought about resisting, but then just sat down, defeated. “I find myself thinking of you in all sorts of inappropriate moments.”

Sidney was quiet for a moment. “I know what you mean.” They glanced at each other, then quickly away.

“If I were a stronger man, I’d ask you to request a transfer back to your home country.”

“I can’t do that.”

“I didn’t say I was asking.”

“Glad to hear it. Because that’s not a good look, asking a man to uproot his whole life because your feelings are making you uncomfortable.”

“You’re right. You’re just a man trying to do his job here and live your life. I’m the one who keeps seeking you out. I could walk away and decide never to see you again if I wanted to.”

“That would make me sad,” Sidney said, almost too quiet to hear.

Zhenya snorted. “Being married seems to be revealing all my shortcomings. I don’t seem to be very good at maintaining boundaries.”

“Well, you’ve never had to, have you? Your whole life you’ve had your boundaries externally enforced, strictly enforced, by royal protocol and the sheer isolation of your existence. All of this is forcing you to set your own boundaries and keep to them. It’s not surprising you’d be out of practice.”

“I didn’t come out here looking for you but here you are. I could have walked on by and you probably wouldn’t have seen me, but I didn’t. I couldn’t, because you act on me like a magnet, Sidney. I am drawn to you, and I’ve never been sure why, but it has to stop. I have to stop. The unveiling is barely a month away, and once my husband’s name is known to me, all of you will return to New Scotland, and I’ll never see you again.”

Sidney fiddled with the corner of his book. “I’ve been trying not to think about that.”

“I’ve thought of little else since we met.”

“You make it sound so easy. To just -- stop.”

“Easy or not, it must be done.” He got up and forced himself not to look at Sidney again. He couldn’t bear the sight of those eyes or those cheekbones if it was the last time he’d be seeing them. “Take care of yourself, Sidney.” He strode away, and didn’t look back.

* * *

Zhenya galloped hard, urging his horse faster than he usually would, just wanting the speed, the rush, the sensation of flying. 

To get away. Away from the palace, from his weeping mother, from his gray-faced father, from the endless whispers and quiet preparations and the sad, pitying looks from visitors and staff alike. 

From that cruel, strange world where his brother was dead.

They’d gotten the news just after dinner the night before. Victor had left to return to his mountainside home. The drive was precarious, with many tight hairpin turns, and a truck driver coming the other way had briefly lost control, drifted into the other lane, and hit his brother’s car head-on. The car careened off the edge, flipped over and over down the hillside. Victor and his driver had both been killed.

There was nobody to blame. The other driver hadn’t been sleepy or impaired or even going too fast; it was a difficult road and his hands had slipped at the exact wrong moment. The same thing had happened to Zhenya on that road, but he had been fortunate that no cars had been coming toward him when it had.

“I’ll see you at the unveiling,” Victor had said, as they’d said good-bye. “Just two weeks to go! Can’t wait to actually meet this amazing consort of yours. I bet he’s gorgeous.”

Zhenya had laughed, although as the days went by, he was less and less concerned with what his consort’s face looked like. Nothing about his appearance could be a disappointment -- his face would be dear to Zhenya because it was his.

But now Victor was gone. Victor would never see his brother-in-law’s face nor meet his niece or nephew, nor see Zhenya crowned King when that time came, and Zhenya was angry about it. He was angry about a lot of things. So tonight at dinner, when his mother had tentatively suggested that the unveiling might be postponed, he’d stewed and bitten his tongue until he could stand it no longer, leapt up from the table and fled to the stables without even changing out of his dinner clothes.

He’d saddled Admiral in a rush, the horse probably confused to be going out at this hour. As he’d left the stables, going much too fast this close to the outbuildings, he’d spied Sidney, of all people, running after him. “Zhenya!” he’d called. Probably sent by the consort to check up on him -- would that he’d sent Fleury or Letang, and not the one person who’d only serve to aggravate him further. He’d left Sidney and the palace in the dust, craving escape.

He pulled up at the lake at the far end of the grounds, where he and his brother used to come to fish when the lake near the palace was still too close to their parents’ watchful eyes. It was a remote spot, with a hunter’s cabin and a dock but no boats. They’d fish from the dock, and sometimes just sit there and talk. Victor (although that hadn’t been his name then) had often spoken of his faith, of what he learned from the clerics and the thoughts that kept him studying day in and day out. Zhenya had sometimes spoken of being King one day, because even as children they’d somehow known that it would be him on the throne, not his elder brother. He’d spoken of finding a consort, of what his unveiling day would be like. It was during these talks that he’d come to realize where his preference lay -- when he’d talk of unveiling a consort, he always saw in his mind’s eye a handsome man’s face being revealed to him, instead of a beautiful woman’s.

He and his brother had been close, then. Very close. It wasn’t until they grew into men that the distance came. It couldn’t be helped. Victor’s life had become about his studies, his orders, his calling, while Zhenya’s had become about affairs of state, governing, the business of ruling. Their affection was unchanged, but Victor hadn’t been a real part of his life for almost a decade. And now all Zhenya could see was the time they hadn’t spent together, all the time they assumed they’d have in the future.

He slid off Admiral and flopped down into a heap on the grassy shore, staring at the surface of the water, smooth as a mirror in the still night air. The stars blazed overhead in this unpopulated corner of the royal estate and his mind searched for peace.

He was still searching for it when he heard distant hoofbeats approaching. He sighed. It could only be one person.

He stayed where he was, not turning to look as his interloper stopped his horse and slid off, then came around to sit by his side.

“What are you doing here, Sidney?” he asked.

“You rode out like you were being chased by demons,” Sidney said. “I was worried.”

“I wanted to be alone. Could you not respect my wishes in that, at least?”

“You’re not a be-alone man, Zhenya. You may think you want to be alone, but you don’t. You thrive only with companionship.”

“That isn’t your task to provide.”

“Maybe not. And I shouldn’t be here, probably. You made your feelings known the last time we talked.”

“Not clearly enough.”

“I’m sorry. I just...I couldn’t stand the thought of you out here by yourself. What if your horse tripped? What if you hurt yourself? You weren’t riding very carefully, and it’s dark.”

“I’m fine, as you can see.” His resolve was weakening. How had Sidney come to take such an accurate measure of him in such a short acquaintance? He _ wasn’t _ a be-alone man, that was true. Solitude sounded good, but wore thin after a short time.

Sidney was silent for a few moments. “I’m so sorry about your brother. I’d have told you before, but I haven’t seen you.”

“Thank you. It’s...difficult. He was so excited to become an uncle. My child will never know him now.” His voice caught. Sidney rested a hand on the middle of his back; even that casual touch, through two layers of Zhenya’s clothing, felt electric. 

“I have a sister. I can’t imagine anything happening to her.”

“Are you close?”

“Yes. She’s here, actually. She’s another one of the consort’s guards.”

Zhenya turned to look at him, surprised, although he instantly knew who he referred to. “The woman with the blonde ponytail?”

“Yes. Taylor.”

“She resembles you.”

“A bit, maybe.”

Zhenya’s throat closed, and he swallowed hard. He let his head sag, his chin trembling. Sidney’s hand moved to his shoulder and squeezed it. “I’m so  _ angry, _ ” Zhenya said. 

“Of course you are. A senseless accident; it’s horrible.”

“No, I’m angry at  _ myself. _ Because I’m so sad about my brother, but that’s not why I’m out here. I had to get away before I said something unforgivable because I’m so bitter...I must be a terrible person.”

“You’re not, of course you’re not!”

“I am! My brother, who never hurt anyone in his life, is dead, and all I can think about is why did it happen  _ now;  _ the unveiling is only two weeks away, the happiest day of my life, and now it’ll be overshadowed by this, and then I think, what a terrible thought to have, how can I possibly be thinking about the unveiling when my brother is gone, and I despise myself for it.”

Sidney scooted a little closer. “You listen to me, Zhenya. You are the kindest, most loving, best man I’ve ever known. You are not a terrible person. If you were, you wouldn't despise yourself for those thoughts. You’d throw tantrums and make a big fuss about it and cause your parents more pain, but you aren’t doing that. It’s absolutely normal to have feelings about how this affects you. It doesn’t make you terrible; it makes you human.”

Zhenya wanted to believe him. He looked in Sidney’s eyes and saw only sincerity there. Sidney really did think he was good, and kind, and loving. He might reconsider if he knew how desperately Zhenya wanted him, even though his faithful consort was waiting for him back in their rooms with their child growing under his heart, and that if Sidney said the word, he’d give up his throne, his life, and his child to run away with him. That was why he’d told Sidney they couldn’t be friends, because Zhenya was weak and disloyal. And if he didn’t despise himself for his bitterness over the timing of his brother’s death, he could damn well despise himself for  _ that. _

His mother used to say that emotions ran in packs, and big feelings of one kind could lead to other feelings escaping their cages and running wild. His grief bubbled up like dry ice in a bucket of water, and he felt his face pinch in on itself and his chin shake. Sidney knelt up at his side and folded Zhenya into his arms as he broke into sobs. He clutched Sidney’s waist and cried into his broad chest, Sidney’s hand stroking the back of his head as he whispered “Shhhh, I’ve got you,” over and over, rocking him slightly. Zhenya’s belly heaved with unlovely sobs that weren’t only for Victor. He felt Sidney press his lips to the top of Zhenya’s head and keep them there.

It went on and on, until his chest ached and his head pounded, until his sinuses were clogged and Sidney’s shirt was wet with his tears. He cried until he felt hollow but Sidney never moved; he couldn’t have been comfortable in the awkwardly hunched half-kneel he was in, cradling Zhenya in his arms, but he stayed there like a rock for Zhenya to crash upon, and it was only there that he found peace.

They rode back to the stables in silence, handing their horses off to the yawning grooms and walking back towards the palace.

Sidney stopped just shy of the main gardens. “I’ve asked to be removed from the consort’s guard detail,” he said.

“You have?” Zhenya asked. He couldn’t work up as much of a reaction as this revelation really merited; he felt like his insides had been scooped out, echoing inside with the vacuum left by his grief.

“You won’t be seeing me around the grounds or the palace anymore.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Not exactly. The detail guards will be heading back to New Scotland after the unveiling. I’ll keep to my rooms in the meantime.” 

Zhenya looked at his profile. Silvered by moonlight, he was so beautiful it made Zhenya’s skin hurt. He stepped closer, reached out and cupped his face, allowing himself one stroke of his thumb over Sidney’s elegant cheekbone. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Sidney heaved a deep sigh. “Don’t thank me. Just…” He tipped his eyes up to meet Zhenya’s. “Whatever happens, remember me fondly?”

“Always.” Zhenya stood stock still. He desperately wanted to kiss him. All he had to do was lean in slightly, and he could tell that Sidney would allow it, would even reach up to meet him, if only he could just…

“Goodbye, Zhenya,” Sidney said, then pulled away and walked toward the palace.

* * *

His consort wasn’t in their room when he returned, but that wasn’t unusual. Sometimes he was there when Zhenya arrived; sometimes he came in later. Zhenya filled the large bathtub with the hottest water he could stand and climbed in, soaking until he was red all over like a lobster, letting the heat clear the sorrow from his head.

The door opened after he’d been in there for awhile; the consort entered and leaned over him, stroking one hand across his wet shoulders. He ran his fingers through Zhenya’s damp hair and urged him to sit forward. He did, letting his heavy head hang down while his husband picked up the sponge and squeezed hot water over him, scrubbing the skin gently with smooth, massaging motions. Zhenya leaned back after a little while and looked up at him -- he’d never asked him to unveil before and wasn’t quite sure how. He pointed to the veils, then to his own eyes, which he closed. The consort understood; Zhenya felt the veils being lifted, then his husband’s soft lips on his in a gentle kiss. Lying here with his eyes closed felt so lovely; he was tempted to just sleep here.

The consort urged him up and out, toweled him off and led him to their bed. Zhenya slipped naked into the cool sheets; the consort climbed in on his side and quickly shifted over to draw Zhenya into his arms. He went, gratefully, the lassitude of his bath and the exhaustion of the night’s emotional upheaval barely allowing him the time to get comfortable before he was asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

One week. A mere seven days remained till the unveiling, and Zhenya was walking around with a constant coil of nervous anticipation in his belly. Every day was a nonstop series of decisions to be made, plans to be finalized, fittings to attend, and messages to answer. He was tired -- exhausted, even -- but the adrenaline was keeping him going.

His brother’s memorial service had taken place a few days after That Night By the Lake (as he was calling it in his head). Victor’s body would be buried and consecrated at his mountain home, but the King and Queen had held both a public and a family-only celebration of his life. The consort had accompanied him to the family-only celebration -- Zhenya didn’t need to talk during the hour long service, anyway -- and had been a tremendous comfort to him. Holding his husband’s hand, Zhenya felt steadier than he had since getting the news.

The services had seemed to give his parents some peace; no further suggestions that the unveiling be postponed had been offered, and nobody seemed to think that going ahead with it as planned was in poor taste (his family had sufficient critics in the newspapers that such an opinion, if it existed, would surely have been offered). 

With each day that passed, the danger of miscarriage dropped, and everyone’s steps lightened a little. His consort seemed to be feeling more energetic and was holding himself less gingerly as he walked. They’d even been having sex more frequently -- a few nights before, the consort had produced the infamous blindfold again, to Zhenya’s delight. He’d hoped for a repeat but hadn’t thought it his place to ask.

He hadn’t seen Sidney since That Night By the Lake. Sidney had kept to his word and stayed out of sight. With all the excitement for the unveiling, and the many demands upon his time, Zhenya had even managed to keep his mind off him. He couldn’t think about Sidney leaving, about never seeing him again -- if he let himself dwell on it, his guts twisted up and he couldn’t think about anything else. Once his consort was unveiled, he hoped like hell that he’d feel calmer about Sidney going back to New Scotland, and that he’d be able to say a polite good-bye without having to restrain himself from seizing Sidney and running away with him. Sidney would become a man he’d once known and then lost, a fond memory, and hopefully in the future, he’d be able to think of him without wanting to curl up into a little ball and sob.

He was on his way from a meeting of the King’s Council -- not unveiling-related business, for once -- to his office, where he was to meet with the groundskeepers about preparations for the party, when he heard hurrying footsteps approaching. He turned and was surprised to see his consort full-on running toward him, his veils flying out behind him, exposing most of his smart-but-casual suit. Zhenya cocked his head, a quizzical look on his face. The consort ran up and grabbed his hand, his body language screaming “excitement.” He pulled Zhenya the last few meters to Zhenya’s office and inside. The groundskeepers were already there, with Sasha lurking nearby. They rose, hats in their hands -- these men weren’t accustomed to speaking to the royal family -- and started in with the bows and greetings. The consort rushed over to them, nodding and touching their arms, gesturing to the door, looking toward Sasha, who got the message quickly. “Gentlemen, the Prince and his consort have business, we must ask you to wait a little while…” The consort was gesturing to his watch, then held up ten fingers, twice. “...twenty minutes, will that be all right?”

The groundskeepers agreed, and Sasha hustled them out of the room, casting a confused look back at Zhenya, who just shrugged. “No idea,” he mouthed at Sasha as the door closed behind them, leaving him alone with the consort.

Zhenya turned to face him, spreading his hands in a “well?” gesture. The consort hesitated, then came forward to grasp both of his hands and pull him to a chair. He pushed him down into it, then took a deep breath.

As Zhenya watched, his husband undid his belt, unbuttoned his pants and pushed them down a little bit, lifting his shirttail. He grabbed one of Zhenya’s hands and placed it against his lower abdomen, where...Zhenya’s eyes widened. There was a small, barely noticeable but definitely-there bump that hadn’t been there three days before, the last time they’d had sex. He leaned closer, a broad, delighted smile spreading across his face and joy bubbling up in his chest. He put both hands on the consort’s belly, framing the bump with his fingers, and looked up at him -- he almost fancied he could see the man’s grin through his veils. He leaned in and kissed the slight swell under his consort’s skin then hugged him, wrapping his arms around his husband’s hips and burying his face in his stomach. He felt the consort’s hands in his hair as he hugged him back and the shakiness of his breath against the top of Zhenya’s head.

Zhenya pulled away and tilted his head up, then shut his eyes, being very obvious about it. He felt his husband chuckle, then the brush of fabric against his face as he lifted the veils. He drew him down to kiss him, keeping his eyes firmly shut. The consort’s soft mouth opened to him and Zhenya slid one hand back against his belly, cradling the firmness of that little bulge, invisible beneath his clothes. The first time he’d held their child. 

He drew his consort a little closer. “Husband,” he whispered into his ear. He felt a shudder pass down his consort’s whole body. He drew back and tapped him so he could replace his veils, then opened his eyes and got to his feet. He pulled his husband into his arms, hoping that this embrace would communicate what he could not in words -- his gratitude at what the consort was doing for them, what he was enduring for them, and what Zhenya was willing to sacrifice for him.

* * *

Zhenya never saw much point in rehearsing for the unveiling, but rehearsal had been deemed necessary, so he went along with it. He suspected that it was a way to introduce another state dinner to the schedule.

It wasn't like the ceremony was complicated. He’d be standing up front with his parents and the consort’s parents, who’d arrived the day before from New Scotland. The consort would enter, in fancy bedazzled veils for the occasion, and present himself before them. The cleric would proclaim that the consort was giving life to the royal bloodline, or some such nonsense, and that he was to be accepted into the heart of the Prince and the honor of the family. He’d take one knee, and Zhenya would lift his veil, they’d exchange their weddings rings and that would be it.

And yet here they’d been standing for half an hour while various clerics and footmen ran hither and yon, repositioning people, agonizing over the processional order, the music cues, the placement of the kneeling stool, everything under the sun. Zhenya was almost grateful that his consort was present and neither of them were allowed to speak, or else he might have unleashed some choice commentary.

He glanced at his husband, standing at his side with his arms folded, and he could almost see the man’s eye-roll in his body language. Sasha was harassing everyone to please, get this show on the road, we’re all hungry, the consort’s feet are swelling, don’t you know he’s pregnant (the consort’s feet were not, in fact, swelling, but Sasha wasn’t above evoking pregnant-consort guilt to move things along). 

Finally they were ready for an actual run-through. Zhenya took his place, his parents and in-laws took theirs, and he felt that little frisson of excitement again as the doors opened and his consort walked regally to the platform and stood by the kneeling stool.  _ It’s really almost here, _ he thought. Tomorrow. He’d see his husband’s face tomorrow.

The cleric directed the consort to take one knee, which he did, his veiled face tilted up. Zhenya stepped forward and, on his cue, mimed lifting the veil.

His stomach dropped and twisted as he did so. In his mind’s eye he saw himself lifting that veil tomorrow, saw his husband’s face appear, and of course, of  _ course, _ all he saw was Sidney. Sidney’s eyes, Sidney’s lips, his thick, wavy hair and his jawline like a flying buttress. 

_ It won’t be him. You can’t imagine that it’s him. Stop it. _

His mother nudged him. He became abruptly aware that he’d been standing there, pretending to hold up an invisible veil, for several more beats than he should have been. The excitement he’d been feeling had twisted into dread; his throat closed up and his hands shook. He looked down at the consort, who’d cocked his head in a sort of “what’s going on” gesture, and Zhenya was suddenly furious -- at himself, at Sidney. None of this was his consort’s fault. He’d done absolutely nothing wrong -- in fact he’d been so much more than Zhenya could have imagined -- and here Zhenya was, wishing for another man on the very eve of their new life together. 

He took a step back, his teeth grinding. More words were being said, instructions given, but he wasn’t hearing them. All he was hearing was his pulse beating in his ears. “Zhenya?” his father said. He looked around -- everyone was looking at him. He had no idea what was expected of him right now.

So he ran. He turned and strode out of the throne room, banging the door open and ignoring the rising muttering behind him. “Zhenya, wait!” he heard Sasha call. Poor, long-suffering Sasha, who had to put up with him and only gave him a moderate amount of shit for it.

He rounded the corner and ran into Fleury, almost literally. Only the guard’s quick reflexes saved them from a nasty collision. “Sir?” Fleury said. “I was just coming to collect his Highness for dinner.”

“I need to see him. Bring him to my chambers.”

Fleury blinked. “Who, sir?” Zhenya just stared at him. Fleury gave up the pretense and nodded. “I’ll get him, sir. It may take some time, I’ll need to -- find him,” he said, his eyes cutting away.

“Bring him, as soon as you can.” He continued his stalk down the corridor. 

Sasha caught up to him. “You kind of left everyone in the lurch, there.”

“I meant to.”

“What’s going on?”

“I can’t talk about it. I just need to...work something out. It’s fine, nobody needs to worry about anything, especially my husband. Tell Father and Mother and his Highness that I’ll be along to the dinner soon. Please tell the consort that everything is okay.”

“Give me a clue here?”

He stopped and faced him. “Do you need one?”

Sasha sighed. “No. I guess not. Just...put this to bed, will you? Once and for all. For your husband’s sake.”

“That’s what I intend to do.”

He shut himself in his quarters and paced. The image would not leave him -- lifting the veils, seeing Sidney, wrapping him up and spiriting him away to where nobody would ever disturb their peace again. His brain raced ahead of itself to a fantasy of a whole life lived with Sidney, in a home that was theirs alone, Sidney in his arms, in his bed, in his life. All the times he’d successfully avoided thinking of Sidney over the last few weeks seemed to be descending upon him at once, as if the reality of the unveiling was dredging up his own demons to torment him.

Twenty minutes passed before the door opened and Sidney walked in, his brow furrowed. He was tousle-haired and dressed in lounging clothes like he’d been roused from a nap. “What the hell, Zhenya?” he said. 

“My unveiling,” he said. “It’s tomorrow.” 

“Yeah, I know! So why are you asking to see me?” He frowned and came closer. “Zhenya, you...you look awful. Are you having some kind of a panic attack?” His tone shifted from irritated to concerned. “I can get the doctor…”

“I’m not panicking, I’m…” He broke off and tried to gather what he could of his thoughts. “I’ve been waiting for this day. Weeks and weeks, I’ve waited. To finally see my husband’s face and hear his voice, to know him and see what kind of life we’ll make together.” He looked up at Sidney. “I was just at the rehearsal. Everyone was practicing where to stand, what to say, how fast to walk. Everyone but me.” Sidney stared at him, stricken. “My husband has done me no wrong, Sidney. He deserves nothing but a good life with me, and our children, with a husband who is focused on him, and only him. So when I saw him there, kneeling and waiting for me to lift his veil, all I could think was that the only thing I’d need to practice was not looking disappointed when at last I see his face because he is not  _ you! _ ”

The words seemed to strike Sidney like a physical blow. He bent over and made a choked, strangled noise in his throat. Zhenya watched him, mute with despair. “Oh God, Zhenya,” Sidney moaned, and then he suddenly reached out and seized him, crashing their mouths together.

Zhenya’s stunned paralysis lasted only a moment. He had told himself for months that he didn’t love Sidney but oh God, he did, he loved him from his bedrock and now the man he loved was in his arms, kissing him with an intensity that took his breath away, and he gave himself over to it, entirely. All thoughts of his consort, his duty, and the next day’s unveiling left him and he could only think of Sidney, the entire world was Sidney. Their kisses were desperate, grasping, clawing at one another like they were trying to climb inside.

Kissing him was even better than it had been in his dreams. That plush mouth, his strong body...that…

_ ...the lips… _

Zhenya buried his face in Sidney’s neck and inhaled. The scent of him. So familiar. 

He knew that scent.

_ ...the earth after a thunderstorm. _

He froze.

_ No. _

_ No, no. Impossible _ .

He jerked back, holding Sidney by the upper arms, and stared into his face, afraid of what he might see there. Sidney stared at him, wide-eyed, his mouth red and plumped from the kiss. “Zhenya...what…”

No, he had to see. He had to know.

He dropped to his knees at Sidney’s feet and pulled down the waistband of his loose pants, put his hand to his belly…

...and felt the small, firm swell beneath the skin.

_ Oh, God. _

He let his head fall forward, his forehead resting against his consort’s belly and the child that grew within him.

Sidney. His consort.

He looked up at him. Sidney met his eyes and then shut his own in defeat, a deep exhale rushing from his chest. “Zhenya,” he whispered, the word riding a mournful sigh out of his mouth, laced with regret and resignation.

Zhenya stood up and backed away. He turned around, his mind reeling. Every interaction he’d had with his consort or with Sidney since their marriage was unspooling in his mind, replayed now and colored with this new knowledge. How he had been played for a fool, allowed to torment himself with guilt over his desire for Sidney, to despise himself for wishing he could just run away with him and abandon his consort...all of it pointless, all of it unnecessary. Who had really been wearing those veils? How many times had he looked down at his consort and seen a fake? Oh God, had he ever...no. He couldn’t think of that. He could barely hold his swirling thoughts in his mind right now. Betrayed rage rose in his heart, repeating the single tortured question --  _ why? _

He went to the door, straightening his clothing. He turned partly back, not quite looking at Sidney, still standing in the middle of his bedroom. “I’m going to the dinner. I’ll be missed if I don’t go. I will...make your excuses. You’re not feeling well.” He paused, then spoke quietly. “I can’t see you right now.”

He went out into the hall; just as he shut the door, he heard Sidney sob.


	12. Chapter 12

Later, Zhenya would have no idea how he got through that rehearsal dinner. He had returned to quizzical stares and cautious questions -- God knew what his face had looked like when he stormed out -- and had to dredge up a considerable measure of charm to talk his way out of it. Happily, he had pre-unveiling and impending-fatherhood jitters to take some of the blame, and he had pregnancy woes to excuse his consort’s ( _ Sidney’s _ ) absence. 

He took his seat at his father’s side, his brain running on parallel tracks. He avoided looking at the empty chair -- far across the room, to preserve the embargo -- where his consort would have been sitting, if the entire world hadn’t just been up-ended.

_ Sidney. Sidney is my consort.  _

_ Sidney lied to me for months. _

Sasha was eyeballing him and he knew that he’d be in for the inquisition later. He refocused himself on navigating the small talk and gossip being bandied about the table, and producing the correct platitudes about his excitement for the next day’s ceremony.

In his mind’s eye he kept seeing images of himself and his consort in bed, sharing their bodies, bringing each other pleasure -- had that been Sidney? Dr. Rjskov said that Sidney had conceived at their consummation. What if that had been the only time he’d been with his real consort? What if he’d only gotten Sidney pregnant and then spent the next weeks fucking a decoy? He  _ thought _ that it had been the same man all those times in his bed after the consummation, but he couldn’t stop second-guessing himself, nor could he swear that the man at the consummation had been the man who’d later come to the Royal Bedchamber. Without the signals provided by hair and face, how much did one man of similar build look like another? His rational mind was sure that Sidney wouldn’t have done that to him -- or to a decoy, for that matter -- but his rational mind didn’t seem to be entirely in control at the moment.

These were not productive thoughts when he was trying to make conversation with his great-aunt, the octogenarian Countess of Murmansk. “You’re so fortunate, Zhenya, to be unveiling so quickly! My poor Bernard had to spend eight months veiled. It was hideous.”

“We got lucky quickly,” he said, then cursed his own phrasing, although the Countess didn’t seem to pick up on it.

“Your consort seems lovely.”

“He is,” he said, fighting to keep the misery from his voice.

He’d made it through, invoking those jitters again to make an early escape. His mother had kissed him goodnight and he’d seen her concern, but she let him be.

His relief lasted until he got to his quarters and Sasha was there. “Here,” he said, and handed Zhenya a vodka tonic.

“Bless you,” Zhenya said, taking the drink and downing it in two gulps. He handed the glass back to Sasha, who went to the tray he’d brought in to pour him another.

“The only thing I’m going to say is: what the fuck?” 

Zhenya took the second drink and stared at it. “Sidney is my consort, Sasha.”

Sasha stood there with his mouth hanging open, shocked into silence. “What.”

“It’s him. He’s the consort. He’s the one carrying my child.”

“But...he can’t be! We saw him  _ guarding  _ the consort!”

“If you did, the guy in the veils was someone else.”

“Ohhhh! Like a decoy? Oh... _ oh. _ ” Sasha’s eyes widened as all the implications caught up to him. “Holy shit, Zhenya. I mean...holy shit!”

“You’ve just described the inside of my head for the last few hours. Well, that, and a persistent clanging sound which I can only presume is my sanity making a run for the hills.”

“I mean…” Sasha’s look of shock was melting into a broad, happy grin. “This is great!”

Zhenya gaped. “Great? How is this great?”

“What do you mean, how is it great? How is it  _ not  _ great?

“He’s been lying to me for months! He -- he tricked me into being friends with him -- into falling in  _ love  _ with him, for fuck’s sake -- and I have no idea why! What reason did he have for putting me through that? You know how much I’ve been flagellating myself over this!”

“Is that his fault? And how do you know he even meant for it to happen? Did you ask him?”

“No, I didn’t -- I couldn’t talk to him after I found out. I couldn’t look at him.”

“Zhenya -- you’ve been in the garment-rending agonies for months over the fact that you’d have to lose him when your consort was unveiled. You had feelings for them both, but knew you couldn’t have them both. Except you can! Because they’re the same person! Didn’t you just get your deepest wish granted? Something you never thought you’d have in your wildest dreams?”

“But how much of the consort was Sidney? How often was it him in the veils, and how many times was I with a decoy? Fucking hell, Sasha, did I fuck that decoy?”

“Are you seriously telling me you can’t tell between two different men’s bodies when you’re fucking them?”

“I would think so, but I can’t be sure of anything right now! I’m so confused! Just the possibility is making me a little crazy.”

Sasha flapped a hand. “Sidney wouldn’t let you do that. And he’d never ask a decoy to sleep with you in his place. You don’t seriously think he’d allow that, do you?”

“I don’t know what he’d allow! He had no problem allowing me to torture myself over him!” Zhenya sat down heavily, knocking back the rest of his second drink. “What if this all part of some plot? To get me to have an affair with him and then expose me?”

“Oh no, a prince cheating on an embargoed spouse, the world will never recover from the shock,” Sasha said, sarcasm dripping from his words.

“Well, what if the point was to get me to break embargo, and then he gets out of the marriage?”

“Would he have let himself get pregnant if that were the case? Zhenya, I can’t believe that there was some kind of nefarious plan here. You’re just looking for justification for the anger you’re feeling because you know you can’t really justify it otherwise.”

“I don’t need to justify my anger. I’ve been made a fool, deceived by someone who was supposed to be my partner.”

“I don’t see that he had much choice. Wait...that first night you met him, down in the kitchens, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“He couldn’t have planned that. It must have been an accident.”

“And then he just couldn’t resist my charm and looks and decided to be friends with me?”

Sasha met his eyes. “Is that so hard to believe?”

Yes, Zhenya realized, it was. “So you think he...liked me?”

Sasha sat down next to him. “I think he more than liked you, my friend. I think he saw a chance to get to know the man he’d married in a way he couldn’t from under the veils. He couldn’t tell you who he was, because that  _ would  _ have broken embargo, and I don’t think he wanted that. I think he wanted to stay, and I think he wanted to be with you.”

Zhenya took a deep breath. Sasha was being much too rational for his current state of mind. He thought of Sidney, probably in his rooms, pacing, worried, wondering what was to become of their marriage.  _ It’s him. Sidney is my consort. It’s literally what I fantasized about, of lifting the veils and seeing his face. It’s like Sasha said -- it’s beyond my wildest dreams. I get to have him, I don’t have to lose either of them, because they’re the same person. _

_ So why does it hurt like this? _


	13. Chapter 13

The unveiling was to take place at noon.

Zhenya spent the morning much as he had the morning of his wedding, three months before -- being scrubbed, polished, trimmed and perfumed. This time, instead of ceremonial wedding robes, he’d be wearing his most formal royal uniform, dripping with medals, honors, ribbons and jewels. It was a heavy outfit, which felt oddly comforting, like it would be heavy enough to hold him in the world.

He waited in his quarters until it was time to be escorted to the throne room. As soon as he emerged, the entire procession and the unveiling would be broadcast live to millions of people watching from all over the country and the world. He’d have to be upright, composed, proud, even happy. But at the moment, nervousness was eclipsing most other emotions.

He’d slept poorly, tossing and turning, seeing Sidney’s face over and over again, that helpless, terrified look he’d had when Zhenya had put his hand on his abdomen and felt the proof of his identity there. What must he be feeling? Zhenya had been tempted to go to him, but after midnight, he was not allowed to see his consort until the unveiling. Breaking such a prohibition seemed trivial after the egregious irregularities in their embargo so far, but ironically, those irregularities made Zhenya want to at least observe this last one before the embargo ended and he could see Sidney whenever he liked.

_ What if it was all a mistake? _

Of all the catastrophes that could now befall them, his brain had decided to fixate on the idea that he’d lift his consort’s veil and it would not be Sidney. It was ridiculous, of course -- Sidney was unquestionably his consort -- but he couldn’t let it go. What if Sidney decided he couldn’t go through with it now that Zhenya knew his secret and fled, leaving his decoy to be unveiled as the consort? It wasn’t like Zhenya could proclaim that this man was a fraud; how would he know that? The decoy could then claim to lose the child, and Zhenya would be stuck with him.

That prospect seemed unsettlingly possible. After how Zhenya had reacted, he could hardly blame Sidney if he decided he couldn’t face spending his life with him. Fleury was no mere guard -- Zhenya knew his skill set -- and he had zero doubt that Fleury could engineer Sidney’s escape from the palace with little difficulty. 

At a quarter till noon, Sasha came to the door, dressed in his finest clothes. “We’re ready for you, Your Royal Highness.”

Zhenya drew himself up to his full height, squared his shoulders, and walked into the hall.

The honor guard was waiting in two neat rows, bearing flags and sabres. He took his place between the rows at the head of the guard and walked towards the throne room, keeping his pace steady. The cameras tried to be unobtrusive, but he was painfully aware of their presence as they paced them down the corridor. He kept himself from looking at them only with a good deal of concentration, which was somewhat of a blessing as it gave him something to focus on.

The wide double doors to the throne room were closed. As he approached, the uniformed footmen opened them and he entered, leaving his guard behind. His parents were already at the front, seated on their thrones. Sidney’s parents -- God, he looked just like his father, how had he missed that? -- were seated nearby. Everyone rose as he entered; heads bobbed in a wave of bows as he walked up the aisle and took his place on the top step, dead center.

The head cleric, swimming in his tent-like ceremonial robes, stood in front of him and held his arms wide. “Beloved guests, we are gathered here to welcome Prince Evgeni’s consort, who carries the next child of the royal line, into the bosom of our family. Today, His Royal Highness will unveil his husband, and he will be revealed to the crown and the kingdom.”

Zhenya felt slightly sick and just hoped he wasn’t about to make a very un-royal spectacle of himself.

“Let the consort approach!” the cleric boomed, relishing his role. He might as well -- this ceremony hadn’t been performed here in some time, and it would probably be just as long until it was performed here again.

The doors were opened again to reveal his consort, standing straight and tall with his guards flanking him, Fleury and Letang in the front. He was dressed in a smartly tailored dark suit and draped in intricately beaded golden veils, shorter in front than they usually were to make it easier for Zhenya to lift them over his head. A golden sash with Zhenya’s family crest on it was across his chest.

Fleury and Letang walked forward, their steps perfectly in sync, the consort walking between them. As he approached the thrones, his guards peeled off and took up positions in two lines in front of the guests.

Zhenya’s heart was thudding so hard he worried it would make his medals jangle on his chest. His eyes crawled over the consort’s body, what he could see of it -- was it Sidney? It looked generally like how he was shaped...square shoulders, muscular thighs. If only he could see his ass, he’d feel more confident. 

The cleric beckoned him forward; the consort came up to the second step, where his kneeling stool was located. “Your Highness, Consort to the Prince. Do you come before this gathering to be revealed?” The consort nodded, once. “You carry the Prince’s child. Do you wish to join yourself to this family, and this man, with the speaking of your name?” Another nod.

The cleric turned to Zhenya. “Your Royal Highness, Evgeni Vladimirovich, do you accept this man as your royal consort?” Zhenya nodded. “And do you wish now to look upon his face and hear his name spoken?” He nodded again.

The cleric motioned the consort to the stool. He lowered himself to one knee, the movement elegant and confident. Zhenya moved down to the second step, to place himself on the same level. The consort’s head was bowed, his hands clasped neatly on his raised knee. His fingers were bare, but would not be so for long -- after he was unveiled, the cleric would hand Zhenya their wedding rings and they’d place them on each other’s fingers.

“Let the Consort be unveiled,” the cleric said, with another expansive gesture.

It was utterly silent in the throne room. All five hundred guests seemed to be holding their breath. Zhenya reached out and grasped the bottom hem of the consort’s veils.

He shut his eyes briefly.

He lifted the veil up and over his consort’s head.

Zhenya’s breath caught in his throat. 

_ It was him. It was really him. _

Sidney looked up at him, his eyes large and apprehensive. He was so beautiful, and glowing so brightly, that Zhenya could swear he felt the radiance warm upon his own skin. A murmur ran over the guests, at least the ones who had a decent view.

Zhenya’s anger and hurt felt very far away in this moment, as he looked down on this man who was, miracle of miracles, both of the men he’d fallen in love with. He smiled and brushed his fingers over Sidney’s cheek. Sidney exhaled and his smile broadened; his eyes were glistening now. “I give you my name,” Sidney said. If this had been a normal embargo, those would have been the first words Zhenya would have heard his consort speak. “Sidney Patrick.”

Zhenya held out his hand; Sidney placed his own on top of it. “Sidney Patrick, I name you husband and His Royal Highness, the Prince Consort and Prince of St. Petersburg,” Zhenya said. “Rise and take your place.”

Sidney got up. Two footmen appeared at his sides and removed the veils from his shoulders, leaving him only in his suit, then whisked the kneeling stool away. The cleric opened a small box and held it out so that they could each remove the other’s wedding ring. “Evgeni Vladimirovich, do you reaffirm your vows and accept this man as your husband?”

“I do so affirm.” He placed the ring on Sidney’s finger.

“Sidney Patrick, do you reaffirm your vows and accept this man as your husband?”

“I do so affirm.” His voice was slightly choked. He put the ring on Zhenya’s finger.

They stared at each other for a moment. Zhenya couldn’t help it; joy overcame him and he beamed at Sidney, who grinned back and let out a quiet, quick laugh, his eyes full of emotion. Sidney stepped to Zhenya’s side so they could both face the guests.

The cleric moved to stand before them. “Honored guests, your Prince, Evgeni Vladimirovich, and Prince Consort Sidney.”

The gathering burst into wild applause, and the chamber orchestra began to play. Zhenya glanced at Sidney again, his hand still clasped in Zhenya’s. They turned to receive the congratulations of Zhenya’s parents, then Sidney’s, accepting cheek-kisses and handshakes and hugs. They faced the guests again as they continued to applaud.

Zhenya stole a glance at Sidney, who looked back at him, his expression hopeful. Zhenya lifted his hand, clasped it in both of his own, and kissed his knuckles. Sidney beamed, and the guests cheered. Zhenya nodded, and they walked hand-in-hand down the steps and down the aisle. Zhenya had to hold himself back from hurrying them along, reminding himself that he was to be stately and dignified, and nod to all the distinguished and strategically-important guests. He wasn’t surprised to see that Sidney was doing the same -- if there was one thing he knew about his husband, it was that he’d have done his homework.

Sasha was waiting outside. “Okay, the public introduction will be on the balcony in one hour.”

“Can we take that time to -- talk?” Zhenya said. He felt Sidney’s hand tremble slightly in his.

“You can do whatever you want. Traditionally, rulers and consorts have taken that time to drink. Or fuck,” he said, winking.

“Talking will do for now,” Zhenya said. “We’ll be in my office. See that we’re not disturbed.” He looked over at Sidney, who didn’t seem to be entirely paying attention -- he was looking over at Fleury and his guards, who had filed out of the throne room and now stood in two neat rows outside, making no move to follow him. Their job was now over. Sidney was the responsibility of the palace guard from here on in. “Sidney?” Zhenya said.

“Yes,” he said, with a little start, coming back to himself. “Yes, let’s go.”

They walked quickly to Zhenya’s office; Zhenya shut the door behind them. Sidney walked to the middle of the room, his hands on his hips, and turned around to face him. He looked -- nervous, embarrassed, and not a little bit defiant.

“Do you want to start, or should I?” Zhenya said.

Sidney swiped his hands down his face and pressed them together against his lips for a moment before speaking. “I just want you to know that I didn’t plan any of this.”

Zhenya had figured as much, but hearing him say it was still a relief. “You had a decoy who sometimes wore the veils for you.”

“The use of decoys is an old consort’s trick. To let us walk around and interact without the veils. But you have to be careful who you talk to, which I'm obviously super good at. I mean, it took me an entire day to fuck it up.”

“That night in the kitchens. I wondered at first if you had...well, if it was a plan of some kind, but it couldn’t have been.”

“No, it wasn’t planned. I actually did just want some ice cream, and I never dreamed you’d show up.”

Zhenya sat down, heavily. “It was already too late. I’d seen you earlier in the day, guarding the consort. Who was that, by the way? In the veils?”

“His name’s Andrew. Flower found a guy my height and my general build.”

Zhenya almost couldn’t bear to voice the question. “Was he ever...did I ever...” He just looked up at him. He saw the exact moment when Sidney realized what he was asking. His eyes widened and he sucked in a breath.

“No. Zhenya, no. Anytime you interacted with your consort, even a little, it was really me. I swear. I wouldn’t have done that to you.”

He nodded. “I didn’t think so. I just...I had to ask.” He stared down at his knees. “So after we met in the kitchen, the only question was, how far would it go?”

Sidney groaned a little. “I swear, I never meant to let it get so out of hand. I never meant to get so close to you. I knew it was going too far but I just couldn’t...I’m so sorry. I know what I put you through.”

Zhenya nodded, then got to his feet and moved to stand before him. “Yes. I was afraid of never seeing you again, I was afraid of betraying my consort, I was afraid of being the kind of man who’d be unfaithful, even in his heart. And I was. Because I didn’t know it was you, the whole time.”

Sidney held his gaze steadily. “I wanted to tell you, every day. But I couldn’t. I didn’t want to give up the friendship we had. It would have broken the embargo, and I couldn’t lose you. I knew I was only delaying the inevitable, and the closer I got to you, the worse it would be in the end. I knew I should stop, but I couldn’t, because I loved you.” He reached out and took Zhenya’s hands. “I love you so much, Zhenya. Please, believe me when I say that I never wanted to hurt you, and knowing that I was hurting you was the worst feeling I’ve ever had.”

Zhenya lifted one hand to Sidney’s face. “I wanted to hate you for this, at first,” he said. “I was hurt and angry and I felt that you’d shown me something about myself that I didn’t like. But that wasn’t your fault, and we were both stuck, because I didn’t want to give you up, either.” He tilted forward and rested his forehead against Sidney’s. He felt Sidney exhale in relief, a long breath rattling out of his chest, and move his hands to Zhenya’s waist. “I wanted it to be you,” Zhenya whispered. “I desperately wished that it could be you, and then I called myself a fool for my silly lovestruck daydreams. I still can’t believe I get to have this, the thing I never imagined possible in my wildest dreams.”

“You...you don’t hate me?” Sidney said, his voice small. “I’ve been so afraid, for weeks and weeks, that when you found out, you would hate me.”

He cupped Sidney’s face in both his hands and tilted it up. “How could I ever hate you? How can you not know how deeply I love you?” Sidney’s lower lip quivered, and tears spilled down his cheeks. 

“Zhenya,” Sidney choked out, and pulled him down into a rough, desperate kiss. He clamped his arms around Zhenya’s neck and went up on his tiptoes while Zhenya leaned into him, wrapping him up tight. He’d kissed his consort many times, but never Sidney, and it was like focusing a pair of binoculars -- dual images slowly overlapping until they snapped into singularity. His consort, with whom he’d shared his body, and Sidney, with whom he’d shared his heart, merging into this one man. “Fuck, you’re a good kisser,” Sidney gasped. “Thank God I can finally talk to you when I’m kissing you.”

Zhenya kissed across Sidney’s lethal jawline. “So beautiful, Sid, God, I could just look at you forever.”

“Less looking, more kissing,” Sidney said, dragging Zhenya’s mouth back to his. “It feels so good to do this without the damn veils everywhere.”

Zhenya chuckled. “Is it weird if it was...kind of hot? Fucking you veiled?”

Sidney laughed. “No, it’s not weird. I think that’s even part of the point of it.” He grinned, his eyes crinkling. “Maybe I should keep the set I always wore in bed. For...fun.”

Hot arousal slammed through Zhenya at the idea of fucking Sidney in the veils, knowing it was him this time. He yanked him close again and got his mouth back on Sidney’s. Their hands grabbed greedily at each other’s bodies. He felt Sidney’s hands on his ass, kneading it possessively, while his mouth tilted into his. “Remember what Sasha said? About what this hour is often used for?” he said, his smile buried against Sidney’s mouth.

“Fuck yes I do,” Sidney said, tugging at Zhenya’s complicated uniform jacket. He pulled back and leveled a heated stare into Zhenya’s eyes. “I need your dick in me, right now.”

“Jesus,” Zhenya breathed, fitting the words between frantic kisses. “How are you this sexy?”

“You must bring it out in me,” Sidney said, and grabbed the front of Zhenya’s trousers. Zhenya grunted in surprise at the sudden rush of blood to his cock. 

“Take it easy on me, I’m older than you,” Zhenya joked, palming Sidney’s ass while Sidney got Zhenya’s pants undone and his hand inside to wrap around his cock.

Sidney’s eyes were dark. “I want your come inside me when you present me to your people.”

The noise that came from Zhenya’s throat was like nothing he could ever remember producing. His vision actually swam and he hung on to Sidney a little desperately. “Fuck, Sid, so filthy. How did I never know you were this filthy?”

“I wasn’t allowed to  _ talk, _ dummy. But you’re going to find out.” He grinned and pulled Zhenya back into a kiss, walking them in an awkward shuffle towards Zhenya’s desk. “You’re gonna bend me over this desk and  _ ruin  _ me, then you’re going to show me to the whole world knowing I’m still feeling your cock, and then later tonight whenever we make it to bed and we have more time, you’re going to ride me and take as much of my come as I can give you.”

“I think I'm having a brain aneurysm,” Zhenya choked out, pushing Sidney against the desk. God, would he ever be able to work at it again, remembering this?

“You’re not allowed to die until we’ve both come,” Sidney said, whipping off his suit jacket and unbuckling his belt.

Zhenya resented having to let go of him for even a second while he undid his own clothing. “Where do you want it?” he growled into Sidney’s ear, feeling him shiver in response. “In your pussy or your ass?”

“Pussy. I’m too impatient and we don’t have any lube.” He pushed his trousers down to his ankles and turned, leaning over until his chest rested on the desktop (carefully leaving his belly free), which thrust his bare ass out like it was being presented to Zhenya on a silver platter, or in this case, an intricately carved mahogany writing desk. “C’mon, baby,” Sidney said, looking back over his shoulder.

Zhenya was starting to wonder how he was going to survive being married to this man, this forthright, sexually-confident person who was neither the Sidney he’d known nor the consort he’d shared a bed with but some kind of combination of the two who was greater than the sum of his parts. This, he realized, was his first experience of the real Sidney, who had chopped off various pieces of himself to fit into the role of both embargoed consort and lowly guard. He couldn’t wait for his next experience of the whole man. 

He stepped up close behind Sidney and laid himself over his back, burying his face in the back of his neck and breathing that clean scent of him. He slipped his hand underneath Sidney’s hip and grasped his cock, giving it a few long strokes. Sidney groaned and arched his back, pressing his ass back into Zhenya’s groin. “Okay, okay,” he said, smirking. He tucked his cock between Sidney’s ass cheeks and pushed it down till he felt the give of his pussy, wet and open for him. “So wet, baby,” he whispered.

“Yes, wet for you, God you always get me so fucking wet,” Sidney gasped.

Zhenya thrust forward without warning, burying his cock in one stroke. Sidney cried out and his body twitched. “You want it hard? Tell me how you want it,” he said, holding himself steady, with great effort.

Sidney was trying to push back into him, but he was pinned between Zhenya and the desk and couldn’t move his hips much. “Fuck, just give it to me, fuck me hard,” he bit out.

“I’m going to  _ wreck _ you,” Zhenya hissed, then seized his hips and set about doing just that. He stepped between Sidney’s legs, inside the circle formed by his pooled--up pants, pulled Sidney’s thighs as far apart as he could, planted his feet and thrust up and in, hard and fast, feeling Sidney’s plush ass bounce against his groin with every stroke. 

Sidney hung on to the edge of the desk and went up on tiptoes to angle his hips into Zhenya’s strokes. Sidney’s whole body jerked with the thrusts, a grunt escaping him with each one. Zhenya felt sweat trickling down his chest underneath his heavy formal uniform; he’d only undressed enough to get his cock out. He fisted a hand in the back of Sidney’s shirt and hung on hard, tilting his hips further up to get himself deeper into Sidney. “Gonna be fast,” he said. “You’re so fucking hot, I can’t last.” 

“Yeah, do it, put your come in me,” Sidney gasped. His cock was bouncing between his legs; Zhenya felt him reach down to jerk himself while Zhenya fucked him. “Fill me up, I wanna feel it,” he said, the half-grunted words falling from his lips as his arousal rose, his hand moving fast on his own cock. 

Zhenya felt Sidney somehow  _ squeeze _ him from inside and he groaned. “Oh shit, oh fuck, Sidney,” he babbled.

Sidney shouted and his whole body spasmed as he came. Zhenya thrust in hard and held, spilling into him deep and long. It felt like it was starting at his toes and pulling through his entire body before coming out his cock. He seized Sidney’s shoulders and pulled him back tight against him, feeling the tremors running through his husband’s body as his cock twitched and jerked inside him. “Jesus God, fuck,” Sidney was gasping. “Zhenya...fuck, I think I’ve gone blind.”

Zhenya chuckled as his body sagged against Sidney’s back. He straightened up quickly, not wanting Sidney to be uncomfortable, pressed against the hard surface of the desk. He pulled out and gave him a little room; Sidney straightened up and turned around, leaned in and kissed him a little frantically, breathing hard and looking flushed and well-fucked. “So good for me,” Zhenya murmured, caressing his face and returning his kisses, gentling his urgent mouth with soft lips and light sweeps of his tongue. “Did you get what you wanted, my darling? For the balcony?” he said, smiling. He slid his hand behind Sidney’s cock, feeling that he was sloppy with Zhenya’s come.

“Jesus,” Sidney said, letting his head fall to Zhenya’s chest. “You never fucked me that hard when I was veiled.”

“I never wanted to be too rough with you, or take any liberties. You couldn’t tell me what you wanted, we just had the hand signal, so I guess I erred on the side of caution.”

“Well, now you’ve done it. I know you have it in you, so you’d better start doing more cardio,” Sidney said, smirking, his fingers trailing into Zhenya’s groin and down his softening cock, which was way too spent to take much interest. “C’mon, let’s sort ourselves out, here.” 

They tidied up in the bathroom just off Zhenya’s office, getting their clothes back in order and washing their hands. Zhenya poured Sidney a cup of tea from the samovar in the corner and he accepted it, tucking himself against Zhenya’s side as if he were loathe to be too far away from him.

Zhenya suddenly remembered that this man was carrying his child, a fact that had been somewhat pushed aside during the highly-charged events of the last few hours. His flirty smile dimmed a little, and he moved his hand to cup Sidney’s belly through his trousers. That small, unobtrusive bump was there -- even a little bigger? It was hard to tell. He felt a great wave of love and tenderness rising in his chest and his eyes grew wet.

The heat left Sidney’s expression and he gazed up at Zhenya with undisguised devotion, covering Zhenya’s hand with one of his own. “I can’t wait to see our baby,” Sidney said. “I hope they have your eyes.”

“Sidney,” Zhenya said, his voice catching, and he embraced him. “I love you so much,” he said, into his shoulder. 

Sidney returned the embrace, then drew back, his eyes roving over Zhenya’s face. “Do you know when I first started to love you?” he said.

Zhenya brushed a curl off Sidney’s forehead. “Tell me.”

“At our consummation. The cleric asked me for my permission, on your behalf. I looked back at you, and you looked so...vulnerable. Scared, but also hopeful, and determined, like you were going to take this step, no matter how much it annoyed the traditionalists. I thought, this man is not what I expected.” He grinned. “And wow, nice dick.”

Zhenya laughed. “Well, the sight of your ass when I came into the room sure made things easier,” he said, sliding his hand down to grope it a little.

“In that ridiculous butt-window draping? I nearly laughed when I saw it. Whose idea was that, really?” They were both laughing now, a little giddy with joy and relief.

“How did we get so lucky?” Sidney murmured, lifting one hand to trace Zhenya’s lower lip with his fingertip. “Most arranged marriages learn to at least tolerate each other, but how many fall in love like this, let alone this quickly? I can’t believe I get to spend the rest of my life with you now.” He put his hands on Zhenya’s face. “I feel like even if we hadn’t been arranged, I would have found you, somehow. However it happened, in any way we met, in every universe, I’d have chosen you.”

Zhenya looked into his eyes, hoping his words could be adequate to what was in his heart. “I fell in love with you twice, Sidney. That I don’t have to give up one love for the other -- well, it makes me want to pinch myself to know that I’m not dreaming. That I get to have you, all of you, in all the ways I dreamed of having you -- I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to deserve it.” Sidney just embraced him again, tighter this time.

Eventually, they had to return to reality. “We should be careful,” Zhenya said, pulling back and checking his watch.

“Of what?”

“What will all the clerics and crusty old nobles think if we look too besotted? They’ll start wondering how we got to be so mad for each other while embargoed.”

Sidney shrugged. “Let them wonder. It’s not like they can do anything about it. If any of them ask, I’ll just tell them that they’d be mad for their husband too if he had a dick as big as yours.”

Zhenya spit out surprised laughter. “I dare you.”

“You don’t want to dare me to do stuff like that,” Sidney said, a mischievous sparkle coming into his eyes. “I’ve been known to accept a challenge.”

* * *

After tidying themselves up in the bathroom attached to Zhenya’s office, drinking some water and just sitting calmly for the remaining few minutes, Zhenya thought they looked as little like they’d just fucked on Zhenya’s desk as it was possible for them to look, given that they had, in fact, just fucked on Zhenya’s desk. They emerged at the proscribed time, giving each other synchronized “here we go” looks. Sasha was still outside, but he’d moved from his usual chair next to the door to a bench on the other side of the hallway. He had his arms and legs crossed and was giving Zhenya an unimpressed look that let him know he’d heard just about everything. “Shall I send one of the cleaners in?” he asked Zhenya, one eyebrow arched.

“I took care of it,” Zhenya said. He hadn’t wanted one of the palace staff to have to wipe Sidney’s come from the desk and the floor beneath.

“How big of you.” He looked from one to the other. “You’ve worked it out, then?”

Zhenya drew Sidney to his side, lifted his hand and kissed it. “All is well.”

“Good. You’ve got like five minutes to get to the balcony.”

They walked together down the hall. “The guests are all in the dining rooms?”

“Yes, and the inevitable squabbles over sitting too near such-and-such or  _ not _ sitting near enough to so-and-so have been worked out. There’s quite a crowd in the courtyard...security said it was fifty thousand.”

Sidney stopped in his tracks. “Fifty  _ thousand? _ ”

Zhenya looked at him. “That’s the usual number for large gatherings in our courtyard.”

He watched Sidney draw himself up. “Okay, then.”

“Do you get stage fright?”

“Not so far. But that’s...a lot of people.”

“It’s nothing compared to the twenty or so million watching on TV,” Sasha said, grinning. Sidney went a little whiter.

Zhenya smiled and took his hand again. “They’ll love you, my darling.”

“Oh, God,” Sasha muttered. “This is how it’s going to be now, isn’t it? Googly eyes and dreamy staring and ‘my darling’ and ‘my beloved’ and ‘my precious sweet buttery pancake of love.’”

They rounded the corner to the row of doors that gave onto the elevated balcony overlooking the courtyard. The King and Queen were there, along with some of the closer family, as well as Sidney’s parents.

They went to the doors and paused. Sidney turned to Zhenya, looking nervous. “Do I look all right? My tie is straight?”

“You look devastating, and your suit is in perfect order.” He leaned in and kissed Sidney’s forehead. “Smile and wave, and they will love you.”

“Easy for you to say; they already love  _ you. _ ”

“It  _ is _ easy for me to say, merely because nobody could help but love you.” He took Sidney’s hand and nodded to the footmen. 

They opened the doors to the balcony to a flourish of trumpets, and the bright sunlight blazed into the corridor. 

Zhenya turned to him. “Sidney?”

Sidney looked at him, a little distracted. “Mmm?”

“ _ I _ love you.”

He smiled, favoring Zhenya with that brilliant grin that had first won his heart months ago. “I love you too, Zhenya.” He leaned in and tilted his face up. Zhenya happily kissed him, not caring that all the cameras were on them.

Zhenya stepped back, smiled at his husband, took his hand, and he led him out the doors to meet his people.

* * *

#  Epilogue

_ six weeks later _

Zhenya held up Sidney’s old guard uniform. “You want to keep this?”

“I thought I gave that back to Flower.” Sidney came over and took it from him.

“Maybe you should keep it,” Zhenya said, with a wink.

Sidney gave him The Eyebrow. “You want to sexy-roleplay me being a guard?”

“I did fantasize about ripping that uniform off you, more than once.”

“We’d have to wait, anyway. I can’t fit into it right now.” Sidney was dressed in loose linen pants and a t-shirt. The t-shirt was tight across the swell of his belly, which seemed to grow more prominent by the day. “I’ll put it in a box.”

Boxes were everywhere in their bedroom. They were moving into the larger, family quarters in the west wing of the palace, which were finally ready for them after a month’s worth of renovations -- they hadn’t been used since Zhenya and his brother were children. Zhenya picked up a set of Sidney’s old veils. He shook his head. “How did you see anything through these? They look completely opaque.”

Sidney smirked, and came over to join him. He gathered up the fabric in his hands. “Let me show you,” he said. He draped the veil over Zhenya’s head.

Zhenya gasped. “Oh my God!” He was stunned, because he could see perfectly. There was a slight shadow of draping before his vision, like fabric folds turned down to 10% opacity, but otherwise it was clear. He went to the mirror and looked at his own reflection -- his head and torso were completely obscured. “How does it do that?”

Sidney pulled the veil off him. “Veiling fabric is one-way transparent. There are only a few artisans in the world who know how to weave it, it’s a closely-guarded trade secret. I’m glad you got those out, though. I need to pack up a few to send to Boston. The Duke of Cape Cod is getting married soon and his consort will need veils. She’s asked if anyone can spare some. We trade them around because they’re so expensive and hard to get. A bunch of mine were hand-me-downs.”

“Is there some sort of consort underground network?”

Sidney blinked at him. “Yes, actually, although it’s less ‘underground network’ and more ‘closed Facebook group.’ I got an invite when I got engaged to you.”

“Why am I just now hearing about this? That’s fascinating!”

Sidney shrugged. “It just didn’t come up, I guess -- and no offense, babe, but it really isn’t for you. The group is for consorts, former and present, and it’s a really good support network, especially for consorts under embargo. I learned a lot. You can ask anything there and someone will know the answer.”

“Well, that absolutely does not make me wonder what kinds of questions you were asking there after we were married, definitely not.”

“Mostly I was asking about how to deal with falling in love with my hot husband while getting dicked down like I’d never been before.”

“You did not,” Zhenya said, although he half-hoped it was true.

“I’ll let you wonder,” Sidney said, winking at him, separating out the veils and putting some in a separate box to send to New England.

“Don’t send these,” Zhenya said, picking up the flesh--toned ones that he thought of as Sidney’s “sex veils.” They had used them a couple of times since the unveiling with very satisfying results.

“Oh, I would never,” Sidney said. “Those stay here.”

Zhenya watched his face as he sorted the veils. He closed up one box and set it aside, then began folding the veils he was keeping. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Are you happy, Sidney? Happy here with me, married to me, having a baby with me?”

Sidney stared at him for a moment, looking a little taken aback. “What brought that on?”

“I don’t really know, I just wanted to ask. Here we are, moving into our family quarters, and soon our child will be here and...our marriage was arranged. You’ve never talked about what you want for yourself, for your own life, and I don’t know if I’m helping you achieve it. I want to, if you’ll let me. You gave me a tremendous gift by accepting me, and then another one by loving me. And you…” He swallowed hard. “You make me so happy, Sidney. All I want is to make sure you are as happy with me as I am with you. I just…” He felt himself getting choked up. “I never want you to regret it.”

Sidney came over to Zhenya and took his hands. “Zhenya. Look at me.” He did. “I didn’t know how much to hope for when I agreed to an arranged marriage. I chose carefully, and I was pretty sure I’d chosen a decent man that I could respect. You’re right, I do have hopes for my own life. But I wanted to focus first on getting through my embargo, and then my first pregnancy, however long that took. You gave me a gift, too, by being a man I could fall in love with.” He put his hand on Zhenya’s face. “I am happy with you. I love you more every day, in no small part because you ask me questions like that. My hope for my own life is to make a difference with the power that we have, and we’re going to do that together, okay?” Zhenya nodded. Sidney went up on his toes to kiss him; Zhenya kissed back, gratefully. Sidney pulled back after a moment and laid a hand on Zhenya’s chest. “I wouldn’t say no if you were to carry our next child, though, eh? This heartburn is murder, and I miss booze.”

Zhenya laughed. “Whatever you say.” Sidney smiled and went back to packing...but halfway there he stopped short. Zhenya frowned. “What? Sid? Are you ok?”

Sidney’s eyes were wide. “Zhenya! Come here!” he said, holding out his hand. Zhenya joined him; Sidney grabbed his hand and put it against his belly. “I felt something!”

Zhenya stared down at the gentle swell, his heart thudding. He concentrated hard, as if that would make his hand more sensitive -- but then he felt it. A flutter and a ripple of motion underneath Sidney’s skin. “I felt it!” he exclaimed.

Sidney laughed, grinning, tears in his eyes. “Our baby is kicking, Zhenya.”

Zhenya stared down at his hand on Sid’s belly, his eyes wide. “Oh, Sid...I...I don’t know what to...” He couldn’t continue.

Sidney leaned up and kissed him. “You’re going to be such a great dad.”

“So are you, my love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your support and comments, it really means a lot to me. Thank you to burning_up_AO3 and luckie_dee for beta services.
> 
> Come follow me on tumblr (madlori) for chatter and Unveiled talk. I hope to release more fic in this universe!


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